


Questions of Science

by sifuamelia



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Decisions, Bad Flirting, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Coming Out, Declarations Of Love, Denial of Feelings, Disabled Character, Dysfunctional Family, Edward Elric Swears, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Family Secrets, Fluff, Friendship/Love, House Party, Human Experimentation, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Moving On, Multi, POV Alternating, POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prom, References to Depression, Survivor Guilt, Teen Romance, Unethical Experimentation, Wakes & Funerals, Wheelchairs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifuamelia/pseuds/sifuamelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>skinny love (n.): when two people love each other and are too shy to admit it, but they still show it</p><p>An ordinary girl nearing the end of everything that she knows. The boy she grew up with reconciling the past year's darkest memories. As he comes back into her life, she'll learn that things aren't always what they appear to be on the surface. Oh, and also, they're both madly in love with each other — this story will make that abundantly clear — but far too proud to admit it. As if THAT'S not totally ridiculous.</p><p>(But love often is.)</p><p>UPDATE 8/8/17: I'm (finally!) working on finishing this story once and for all. It's being reworked with a much simpler/realistic plot than the one I'd originally intended. Still includes some canonical plot points, though. Because I'm moving many things around, if you read this now, it's going to make little/no sense. So... wait till I delete this note to read, please! Thank you! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some Disclaimers

**WINRY**

 

Let me just begin by saying that there are two sides to every story. There's  _their_  side. And then, there's  _my_  side.

The right side.

 

* * *

 

**EDWARD**

 

Whatever she just told you is probably grossly incorrect, and you should ignore everything about it. Trust me on this one. She's a crazy, sadistic, wrench-wielding—

What's that? Is she... _pretty_? What kind of question is _that_? It's _2017_ , for Chrissake! Let's talk about her massive brains first! Or her mechanical talents! Or her work ethic, which is _wicked_  strong—

Fine. _Fine_. Fine, fine, _fine_. She might be a _little_ pretty. Jesus.

Don't you _dare_ tell her I said that. Or I will end you. If she finds out, I'll know it was you, and you'll need to watch your back for the rest of your sorry little life, because I'll be on you with a vengeance. And then into your sorry little afterlife, too, because I'll find you there. I'm really smart. I'm very resourceful.

I'll haunt the crap out of you.


	2. The Prodigal Son(s)

**EDWARD**

 

"Yo, Ed," says a quiet voice from the doorway, and although I know whom it belongs to, it sounds woefully unfamiliar in its seriousness.

Dr. Maes Hughes twists his long legs into a pretzel beside me on the guest bedroom's smooth wooden floor and idly begins folding a pair of my socks. With quick, deft fingers, the pair has been perfectly wrapped into a fist-sized ball, and he gently places it atop my overflowing suitcase. "Did you never learn to fold your clothes properly?" he asks lightly, pushing his square frames a little bit higher up his ski-slope nose.

"What's the point?" I retort roughly, slamming the case shut. Its zipper whines as I aggressively pull it through its neat rows of teeth. "I'm just going to throw it all in some closet in a few hours."

"Okay," he responds with a genial shrug. "Sounds good to me."

_God, I hate when adults get like this,_  I ruminate as I flop down onto my back, staring up at the lazily spinning ceiling fan.

"What was that, young man?"

_Crap. I said that out loud, didn't I?_ "N-nothing," I mumble in response.

"Look, Edward, it's okay to be upset—"

I'm on my feet in a flash, finally getting to fight the fight that I've been waiting for. "I don't need any of your bullshit, Hughes! You know I'm not  _upset_! I'm  _angry_!" I fist my hands into my jeans, and my prosthetic one, my stronger one, accidentally tears a hole in the fabric near the pocket. _Great. Just **great**._

"Whoever said that you can't be both?" asks Hughes in that fucking _mild_ tone that I just can't stand. He unfolds his pretzel legs and stands up to meet me, and I'm caught a little off-guard by the fact that I'm really gaining on him in height. I ignore the small swell of pride that I feel at that, though, because none of that really matters anymore.

_Or does it? Can things still matter when a day has come to a close, before it had a chance to really even begin?_

"Whoever said?  _I_  said! I  _say_!" I snarl. He's really got me going now, and he knows it; his arms cross tightly over his sweatshirt-covered chest, so different from the pressed dress shirts and suit jackets that I'm used to seeing him in around the university. But he still doesn't say anything.

"I'm angry, goddammit!" I shout, voice rising higher than the spinning ceiling above us. "I'm angry because they're giving that fool a nice clean death instead of letting him rot in some dark prison like he deserves! I'm angry because I care more about what he did than he does! I'm angry because—"

"—there was nothing you could do about it," Hughes finishes simply, his voice still at infuriating room temperature. "And you're upset that you're feeling so helpless."

"What…" I trail off, and although I'm just as riled up as before, a telltale drumming heartbeat pounding rapidly throughout my body, I'm genuinely curious about what the spectacled git has to say.

"Because for the first time in your life, you watched a life ruined, but it was by no fault of your own. For the first time in your life, you couldn't take the blame for it. And for the first time in your life, you could've kept someone safe, or, at least, you _feel_ like you could've kept someone safe, but by the time help was needed, it was too late." He doesn't move a fraction of an inch as he tells me all of this, but his dark eyes are as serious as I desperately need them to be...

...and very, _very_ kind.

I feel like my bones have turned to jelly. I sink back down to the floor, and just as he had before, he follows me there, once again pretzel-fying himself. I copy the gesture, my elbows on my knees and my head in my mismatched hands. "But you're wrong," I say in a hoarse whisper. "You're wrong."

"Okay. Why?"

_Fucking intellectual, trying to get the fucking answers out of me without any effort of his own._ "I'm pretty bad at keeping people safe, even when I'm trying my hardest," I finally admit after some time, and I can look him in the eye without feeling any real anger. "Just ask my little brother."

"I think that if I did, he'd tell me the exact opposite," Hughes responds warmly.

Because I can't think of anything else to say, I roughly grab the edge of the suitcase and unzip it, digging through the pile of shirts, slacks, and everything else required to clothe a seventeen year-old boy about to set off for prep school. Finally, I unearth Hughes's perfect sock ball and turn it over in my hands; flesh and metal, metal and flesh.  _Which one is real?_  I think.  _Which one is the real me now?_

"Say, Hughes, what's the best way to fold a pair of boxers?"

"Ah, young grasshopper, I thought you'd never ask."

 

* * *

 

"Do you have your passports? Your IDs?"

"Ye-es," I respond, a long yawn effectively cutting my entire body in half. It's nearly midnight, but New York City's Grand Central Station is jam-packed, full of people rushing off to places that I'll never know. Gracia Hughes is too busy acting the mother hen for me to look around at the constellation-covered ceiling, or at the statues of old, forgotten gods, crowned in gold leaf and waving at no one.

"What about the cash we gave you, is it still in that envelope?"

Alphonse rolls up behind her with a giggling Elicia still attached to his wheelchair like a sloth to a tree branch — not planning on letting go any time soon. He comfortingly pats Hughes's wife on her lower arm. "We're going to be okay, Mrs. Hughes. You don't need to worry yourself."

Just looking at Alphonse makes most people feel safe and sound. It's because of those big, tawny puppy-dog eyes, is what I tell them. Thieves and murderers don't wear puppy-dog eyes. But my own silent truth is that he looks so much like our mom, and that's a good part of what's kept me sane throughout the years of missing her so much that it sometimes hurts to breathe.

The conductor leans warningly on the Amtrak's horn, then, and the ensuing puff of steam is enough to startle Elicia from her perch. She dashes off behind her father, practically climbing her way up his shirt in a remarkable display of dexterity for a three year-old, and especially one still awake at this late-ass time of night. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" she cries, tugging on his sleeve insistently. But for once in her short life, Hughes is paying more attention to someone else than her. And that's _us_.

"Everything's going to be okay, Elrics," he says, looking at me with an especially hard expression. "Don't worry yourselves too much, alright? Enjoy being back at home. Your _real_ home."

"Besides, we'll see you at Christmas!" Gracia adds, her kindly grin like a sunbeam breaking through a storm cloud. I offer her a wan smile in return as we carefully board the slowly rolling train. Its pace begins to speed up, gradual yet insistent, and the station is about to slip away and give way to the starry August sky.

"Take care!" Hughes echoes, one arm tight around his small daughter and the other steadfast around his wife's waist. "Be safe!"

"Christmas!" Elicia squeaks in reminder.

I need them to know that I'll at least try, so I lean out the window next to our seats like a hypocrite and shout back, "We will! We will!" Al seconds these sentiments, waving like a madman from his place next to me.

The Hughes family disappears from my vision, so I settle down and get ready for some nice shut-eye. Al hums along to his iPod as the night train rockets through the city, buildings growing sparser and sparser and tree cover thickening. "Express to Essex Junction," the conductor tells me reassuringly, and that's the last thing I hear before I finally drift away, Hughes's promise still at the forefront of my mind.

 

* * *

 

**WINRY**

 

It's a muggy August night in Chittenden County, Vermont, and the sky's colored an ominous black sapphire, threatening all kinds of thunder and lightning. I'm cleaning up from dinner, and Granny's doing a crossword, while Den slumbers peacefully at her feet.

"Maes Hughes called this afternoon while you were out, Winry," Granny comments as I pass by her place at the table, simultaneously balancing a precariously stacked hodgepodge of plates and silverware and attempting to mentally outline my latest ideas for my still-unwritten personal statement essay. "He says that Ed and Al are coming home from the big city for this school year."

I can't help it; two forks and a knife clatter to the floor and at least two plausible sentences vanish from my brain.

Granny's glasses have turned opaque in the light of the overhead lamp, so I can't see her expression. All she says is, "Do you want some help, child?"

"N-no, it's fine. Thank you." I carefully settle the dishes atop the counter next to the sink and bend down to retrieve the fallen cutlery. "That's… surprising," I finally manage once I've stood. I don't fully understand my clenched fists or the quiver in my voice.

"Just 'surprising?'" Granny asks mildly. "We were both sure that you'd be jumping for joy."

I roll my eyes, but she can't see. "When are they coming home?"

"Well, they should be here by sometime tomorrow. They're taking the night train out of Grand Central." She then lets out a ferocious sort of groan.

"Granny, what—"

"This infernal word puzzle! Whoever writes these things must be some kind of sadist who enjoys watching little old ladies suffer!"

I laugh as I begin scrubbing down a plate. "Okay, what's the question?"

"'What is a four letter word for an enameled metal?"

"Are you serious, Granny? It's _iron_!"

Granny looks at the puzzle, and then at me, over the rim of her glasses. "Well, so it is." She chuckles. "That's embarrassing."

"What a sadist," I mutter. I reach for another dish.

"Hey, missy! We aren't all future mechanical engineers!" she admonishes, sticking a wrinkly, calloused finger in my direction.

I just laugh at this. "Granny, we both know that you're an ace mechanic as well. Your eyesight's just… well…"

"I know I'm getting all old and crumbly, child. You don't need to tread lightly about it." She winks at me and then stands, although her head doesn't come up much farther than the table she had been sitting at. "Let me help my only grandchild with those dishes."

 

* * *

 

The first of the thunderstorm begins just as I finish with my shower, which I consider to be pretty fortuitous, because I don't plan to be electrocuted just yet. (First, I need to get into MIT.) I'm toweling off in my room when Den comes rushing in like a black and white bullet. She howls at the sight of me, which nearly causes me to drop my towel, and then leaps onto my bed and buries her furry head beneath my quilt. "Careful, Den! You know that that quilt's all I have left of Mom—" I cut myself off. _No use rubbing salt into old wounds._

There's a quiet knock at the door. "Come in," I answer, even though I'm still in my towel. Granny looks a little taken aback at my appearance, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she sits next to me on the bed and begins to rub Den's shaking head. "I guess that makes two of us who aren't huge fans of thunder," she chuckles, smoothing back her fur in a calming gesture. "Poor, poor puppy."

"Granny…"

"Yes, Winry?"

"Where are they going to stay?"

She knows right away whom I mean. "They're staying with us, of course."

" _What_?" I exclaim, but it sounds like a shriek, which causes Den's ears to perk up. " _Here_? In  _our_  house?"

My grandmother quirks a single skinny eyebrow, a talent I've never quite been able to replicate. "Unless you want them to stay with Headmaster Mustang again. _Boy_ , was that a first rate disaster last time we tried it. I'd bet my stars that Riza Hawkeye saved Ed's life that night..."

"No-it's-fine," I say much too quickly, my words slurring together. I draw in a deep breath and reach over Granny's tiny lap to give Den a pat. "They can stay here."

She looks at me just as she had in the kitchen, when I couldn't quite see her expression. She opens her mouth, and I'm sure she's about to impart some kind of ancient wisdom on me. But all she says is, "You'll need to be careful about walking around in just a towel like that."

"Granny!" I hit her with one of my many fluffy throw pillows.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, I'm far too fidgety. I should be slogging through the rest of my summer reading or working on my latest project or going out for a run or  _something_. Anything but sitting on the front porch stoop, staring off toward the rise in the hill, where, at any moment, Ed and Al could appear. I don't know why I'm so nervous about seeing them. They were my childhood playmates, my best friends, the only people I could truly rely on besides Granny (and Den, of course, if you count dogs as people, which I do). But it's been over a year since I'd last seen them. What if things had changed?

 _Of course they've changed,_  I scoff to myself.  _That's what people do. You can't fight it._

Den emerges from the house and sits down on the concrete beside me, wagging her tail. The night's thunder brought a beautiful morning to us, with a cloudless blue sky and a brightly shining sun. The dog gently tugs at the sleeve of my too-big white t-shirt, and I giggle at her pleading expression. "Okay, okay! Den, fetch!" I grab her favorite chew toy, a piece of multi-colored knotted rope, and give it a good toss. It, along with Den, disappears over the rise in the hill, but then—

There's a nasty-sounding _THWACK_ , accompanied by a shout of surprise.

"Ow! Hey! What the hell!" cries out an all-too-familiar voice.

"Brother!" A second voice floats toward me over the wet grass, filled with concern. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," answers the first dismissively. "Hey, Den! Look at you! You're such a big girl!" All of the anger has disappeared, replaced with highly uncharacteristic mushiness. "C'mon! Bring the rope back!"

 _This is it._  My heart is beating far too erratically for me to not understand why. I fiddle with one of my many earrings, push an errant strand of blond hair out of my face, and then Den appears first, gleefully pulling the length of rope. And then, following her over the rise in the hill, are Edward and Alphonse Elric.

The first thing I notice, before anything else, is the height. "Unbelievable," I mutter to myself, eyeing Ed (with what's truthfully a bit of a glare).

"Hey, Winry," Alphonse says as his characteristically wide smile lights up his face. He looks much healthier than when I last saw him; his face less gaunt, his skin less pale. His golden-brown eyes are open and bright, and his hair, which matches the shade of those eyes perfectly, has a slight wave to it. "Didja miss us?" 

"Miss you?" My voice is incredulous. " _Miss you_?" I see tackling them with a bear hug as a perfectly acceptable answer. I wrap my arms around both of them, Al in his chair stuck in the middle, Ed awkwardly pinned to my side, and it's just like old times—

"Watch it, Winry," Edward growls, speaking up for the first time.

I lean on Alphonse's chair as he begins to laugh, but I only have eyes for his older brother. Edward looks down at me with eyes a shade lighter than his brother's and a slight grimace that reminds me all too much of the past. "Sorry," I whisper. I practically push myself away and sink onto the hard-packed dirt of the front path, not really caring about the state of my shorts. Now we're all sitting side-by-side — Ed and I on the ground, Al in his shiny wheelchair — staring up at the blinding sun. The illusion of our original feelings of camaraderie seems shattered, but I still try to lighten up the mood. 

"It's nice to see you too, Ed," I say, only half-sarcastically.

Alphonse laughs even more. "This just isn't your day, Brother. First you get hit in the head with Den's chew toy, and then a beautiful girl hugs you hard enough to bug the crap out of you."

"Ugh," Ed and I groan simultaneously. I look over at him and try out a smile. It seems to work; his mouth curves upward ever so slightly. He sits up carefully and flexes his right arm, the long sleeve of his red t-shirt successfully covering his prosthetic limb. I'll always know it's there, no matter how hard he tries to deny it. (After all, I helped Granny make it.)

There's an awkward silence, but I don't think Al notices it. He's too busy sniffing the air. "I think I smell apple pie," he says suddenly. Den barks, seemingly confirming it. "Last one gets the smallest slice!"

Ed's eyes narrow. "Hey, wait—!" But it's too late — his younger brother, along with Den, has vanished inside the house.

He sighs and stands up, absentmindedly dusting off his pair of faded jeans. He offers me his left arm without quite looking at me. "C'mon." I slowly take his hand, trying to ignore the sudden blush that's threatening to creep across my face and up the back of my neck. _What in the world...?_

"Thanks," I say after he pulls me to my feet.

"No problem." He drops my hand like a hot coal. He hesitates for a moment after that, and I'm surprised to see his cheeks turning the same color as his shirt. "Look, Winry, I… er, it  _is_  really nice to see you again. Thanks for letting us stay with you." He sounds so weirdly formal, so unlike the Ed that I know. I lightly punch him on the arm — his _good_ arm.

"Hey, chill out. Let's go eat some apple pie."

He smiles at me now, for real. "Did you notice that I'm taller than you now?"

That's the moment when I know that things are going to be okay. I decide that I need to beat him into the house, so I begin to run for the door. "Remember what Al said?" I holler over my shoulder. "Last one gets the smallest slice!"

In a second, he's on my heels. "So you  _did_  notice!"

"I hope Granny makes you drink milk!"

 

* * *

 

That night, much to Ed's consternation and Granny's amusement, the headmaster of Chittenden County Prep comes by. Roy Mustang isn't exactly an old family friend, but I honestly think Granny likes having him over whenever the boys are in town because he keeps Ed in check so well. Accompanying him is Deputy Headmaster Riza Hawkeye, who's pretty much his closet girlfriend, save for the fact that the whole town knows, and her shiba inu, Black Hayate, whom Den has always been pretty uncertain about. The two dogs sniff at each other; Hayate decides to remain sitting primly at Riza's ankles, while Den opts for her plush doggy bed sitting in the corner of the living room.

Roy wastes no time getting down to business. "Hughes sent over your luggage," he says briskly as he hands Ed and Al two overstuffed suitcases. "He said to ring him up if you or Alphonse forgot to pack anything."

Al nods quickly. "Yes, sir!" He takes the bags in his hands and rolls awkwardly toward the first floor guest bedroom, the one that's been practically his own since... _Well._

"I'd like to talk to Edward alone for a few minutes, if that's alright with everyone," continues the headmaster.

This seems to both please and bother Granny. "Mr. Mustang, with all due respect—"

"Pinako," he interrupts lightly, but there seems to be a hint of warning in his deep voice. "Please."

"It's okay, Granny," Ed says cheekily, giving her a thumbs-up. "He doesn't scare me." Hayate growls.

Roy rolls his eyes. "Let's get this over with, Elric." He practically drags him into the nearby dining room and shuts the swinging door with an intimidating finality.

Riza sighs audibly. "What children." She sits down on the couch, which faces the brick fireplace and the TV. I choose a place next to her. I've always really admired Riza. She's so cool and collected, and never lets her temper get the best of her... which is something I'm pretty guilty of, to be honest. Al returns, parking his chair by Granny's overstuffed wing-backed, which sits rather regally in the corner next to a carved wooden bookcase. According to Granny, my dad had built it as a teenager in order to impress my mom, who was an avid reader. Building bookshelves hadn't captured his interest for long, but I know that Mom had for the rest of their lives.

Riza coughs quietly, and I look up from my hands, clasped tightly together in my lap. She looks at me with chocolate-brown eyes that are much warmer and kinder than most people would suspect. "How has your summer been, Winry?" she asks.

"Alright, Ms. Hawkeye."

"Getting ready for college applications?" I nod, which is a lie, because I still haven't started my essay. But the vice principal doesn't need to know that.

Al grunts, his chin resting on his chest as he sags into his wheelchair. Despite his politeness and proper attitude, his posture's always been deplorable, just like his brother's. "Maybe you should knock some sense into my brother, Winry. He has no idea what he's doing."

Riza sniffs. "It's true. We received his academic records from your school in New York, and apparently, he has yet to take the SATs."

Granny returns with a tray loaded with iced water and the remnants of the apple pie. Riza thanks her and takes a glass; so do I. Al opts for another slice of pie. "That boy will be the end of all of us, I swear," she remarks. "He's going on eighteen years-old, and he still won't drink his milk."

 

* * *

 

I'm cleaning up the kitchen before I go up to bed, but I can hear the boys arguing about something or other in Al's room on the other side of the wall. As I dry down the apple pie dish, I offhandedly wonder if Ed will end up sleeping on Al's floor for an entire year rather than use the bedroom we've given him upstairs. _Poor Al,_ I think. Despite the thousands upon thousands of times that he's told me not to, every time we're together, I see all the ways that I wish I could fix him.

I scrub the next dish a little harder. Their voices are too loud. I'm about to knock on the wall that separates us and demand that they shut their pieholes lest they awaken the beast that is a sleeping Granny, but then I hear Ed say—

"He just thinks we  _might_  be in danger. 'Might' being the operative word. Calm down, Al. It'll be fine."

_Danger?_  For about a fourth of a second, I feel guilty about listening in, but I decide to press my ear to the wall anyway.

"But Brother—"

"He's just an old coot. Him and Hughes. They're feeding off of each other. They're making mountains out of molehills! Don't spend a second thinking on it, okay? You have  _nothing_  to worry about."

"Okay…" Al sounds just as skeptical as I feel, because to me, it sounds like Ed's too busy trying to convince himself instead of his brother. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt... Especially you."

"No one will, little bro. I  _promise_." I wait a few seconds more, but they've finished talking, and my ear's beginning to hurt in the many places where it's pierced. I frown and go to turn off the kitchen light. Once I'm upstairs, though, it's too hot in my bedroom to be beneath even the sheets, and I find myself tossing and turning.

_Why would Headmaster Mustang and Dr. Hughes think that Edward's in danger? Who would be endangering him? Who could get hurt?_

_What's going on?_

Outside my window, the trees rustle. The thunderstorm's back.


	3. Summer's End

**WINRY**

 

The next two weeks pass in a blur, and I don't hear anything else at all about the supposed "danger" our new houseguests are in. I want to press the issue — if Roy thinks something's wrong, shouldn't we be worried? The man's got a knack for sniffing out suspicious circumstances — it's probably what makes him such a good school principal. But I'm so glad to have those two back, I try to stifle my building skeptics and focus entirely instead on making them feel welcome at the house and happy to be back in Chittenden. With Al, it's very easy. He's always been so happy-go-lucky and pleasant, despite everything's that happened to him. But Ed's the exact other side of the coin. If it weren't for their close resemblance, I don't think many people would guess at their relationship. Those two are like night and day, and I bet you can easily pick out who's which.

Speaking of Edward... _Ugh._ It's like he's  _trying_  to drive me absolutely crazy. Breathing down my neck while I'm tinkering in the shop. Listening to loud music while I'm trying to finish my summer reading. Chasing Den around while I'm attempting to mop and vacuum. No matter what I'm doing, no matter where I am, he always seems to be there, screwing me up. He swears it's all unintentional, but his eyes are always too bright for me to believe him fully...

 

* * *

 

 **EDWARD**  

 

It's five blisteringly hot days before school begins when the proverbial straw breaks the proverbial camel's back. We had it coming. I think we both knew it. But when it finally happened... It wasn't at all like I expected it to be, is all.

It's the middle of the afternoon, and I'm sitting on my bed, struggling through a particularly tricky bit of  _Othello_  (despite my rep as a pretentious asshole intellect, deducing Shakespearean gibberish reading and writing has never been my strong suit) when _Winry_ appears in my doorway.

"Hey," she begins, breaking out into a huge grin that makes me feel a little warmer than usual. But I put it down to the bright summer sunlight shining down on my back through the bedroom window. _Damn sun._

"Hey, yourself," I reply without looking up from the gibberish in front of me. But for some only-God-could-possibly-know-why reason, she decides to make herself at home and sits down on the bed, right next to me. She peers over my shoulder, and I'm very tempted to flick her in the stomach. Just because we've grown up doesn't mean she isn't still freakishly ticklish.

" _Othello_ , huh?" she asks.

"Yup." I don't want to give her even the slightest of openings. I just want to be left alone. _Hypocrite,_ says a tiny voice at the back of my mind. _You've been bugging her on purpose for weeks._

 _Why_ ** _have_** _you been doing that, anyway?_ it adds.

 _Shut_ ** _up_** _,_ I think back at it with a vengeance.

"How's it going?" Winry tugs lightly at the end of my growing ponytail, her hand hesitating at its tip for a few long seconds before falling away. I think I do a pretty bang-up job of ignoring how that slight touch makes something in my stomach do this weird little flutter thing.

"It'd be better if you weren't here," I retort sharply. And _boy_ , do I mean it — she's _literally_ the most distracting person alive. "Leave me alone. I need to finish this crap before school starts."

"Nerd alert," she says mockingly. "How'd you get _this_ much homework over the summer? It's like you have double my load or something."

"Differences in curriculum between my old school and Chittenden," I explain. "We had AP courses, but your school's fancy and does IB coursework. So, congratulations. Many blessings on your house." I roll my eyes at my book. "So I'll say it again — leave me alone to drown."

"'Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind puppies.'"

I finally make eye contact with her... and immediately regret it. Her eyes are searching my face, looking for something that I don't know a goddamn thing about, and why in the _hell_ is that slow heat returning, creeping up the back of my neck like it has nowhere else in the world to go?  _Seriously, fuck this sunshine,_ I think angrily.

"So… you've read it."

"Hmmm?" Winry asks, not really paying attention. Her attention's suddenly occupied elsewhere — I look out the window to see Den leaping joyfully into the air, jaws clamped around a rope thrown her way by Granny. She's got this soft smile on her face, and it's just so, so—

I shake my head. _Cut it out, man. Seriously._ "Win!" I'm tempted to snap in her face to regain her focus, but unfortunately, only my fake hand is free at the moment — the real one's currently splayed out atop my comforter, but it's absolutely frozen in space, because I'm scared to move it even a centimeter lest it comes into contact with her thigh. "You've read  _Othello_?"

Her gaze abruptly breaks and her blue eyes — yeesh, I'd nearly forgotten just how big those things are — move to roving the pages of my book. "Oh. Yeah." She nods. "Shakespearean tragedy's always a blast."

I frown at her. There are so many questions spiraling through my mind, so many things I want to ask her. What actually comes out of my mouth is—

"Can you help me with it?"

_Wait. What._

She looks up, surprised. "You. Want me. To help you." Suddenly, she half snorts, half laughs. "Well, looks like you've changed quite a bit since we left!"

That's not what I wanted to hear. Not at all. "A simple 'yes' would have sufficed," I respond, dropping the book to the wayside and crossing my arms over my chest. The prosthetic clinks slightly, and her she clamps up tight for a small second. But she proves herself as Resident Big Mouth as she adds—

"The old Ed would've been  _way_  too stubborn to ask me for help."

 _That's it._  I jump up from my bed and face her head on. I feel so annoyed, so exasperated, and I can't even begin to understand why. "Get out, Winry," I shout, pointing toward the door. "Just get out. And stop hovering all the time! It's annoying as hell!"

Her blue eyes flash, then narrow. She's suddenly standing as well, facing me, and a surge of hatred rushes through me. I hate _her_ for bothering me, sure, but I also hate _myself_ for bothering her, because I know I've been doing it, too, unprovoked, and she was just trying to help, but all the same, I just, I just can't, and the worst part of the entire mess is that she's way more beautiful than I'd remembered—

_Wait. What._

We have a mini stare-down, like two cowboys in an old Western, totally alone under a burning dusky sun except for cacti and the occasional tumbleweed. "Fine," she says suddenly, and the tumbleweed rolls away. "Fine." And just like that, she disappears into the hallway without looking back. This makes me even angrier, and yet…

"Ugh," I groan, slumping to the floor. My bangs cover my eyes — they've gotten far too long — and for a moment, I pretend that I'm still a little kid, convinced that if I can't see the world, it can't see me. Den quietly pads into the room and sniffs at me curiously. She smells like sunshine, and her hot breath tickles my cheek. I sigh and brush all of the stray golden strands out of my face, revealing the room just as I had left it. I then reach out to the puppy and hug her close to my chest. She snuffles a bit and then rests her furry head in my lap, letting out a contented sort of breath. Her eyes droop shut, and we stay that way for quite awhile.

"I sometimes think you're the only one who understands me, Den."

"Woof."

 

* * *

 

**WINRY**

 

"Hey, Winry—"

I let out a little shriek, nearly dropping the package of highlighters and the three-ring binder that I have in my hands. "Oh, my God! Alphonse!"

"I had a feeling you'd be here," he says, rolling up to me with an almost shy look on his face. "You always said that school supply shopping was a kind of therapy for you."

I press the binder to my still-racing heart. "Who says I need therapy?"

He raises a single dirty-blond eyebrow. "Ed's been moping around since you left. Granny asked me to check up on you."

I grab a pair of scissors from the shelf next to me and turn them over in my hands, feeling rather diabolical. "I'm going to cut off that stupid ponytail of his once and for all—"

At the same moment, a salesgirl comes by, wearing khakis, a red apron, and a bored look. "Hi, welcome to Staples, can I—" She blinks at us from behind bottle-bottom glasses, taking in the entire scene. Me, brandishing a pair of scissors at an imaginary head. Al, looking taken aback and attempting to get out of my way. "Um…" she begins. She looks ready to run for her life.

"Sorry," Al says, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "She's just—"

"Leaving. I'm leaving," I interrupt tiredly. All the sudden, I feel empty. "Sorry," I tack on.

"I'll just ring you up," she responds quickly. "Don't hurt me. I'll give you a coupon."

 

* * *

 

The Staples is located in the middle of a strip mall near school, and luckily, it isn't too far from home. The sun has thankfully set, and we go home together in wonderfully cooler weather. He even lets me wheel him up the hills, something that I'm glad for, because I'll never stop wanting to do at least _something_ to help (no matter how much I know he can do things on his own). We don't have much to say to each other, but we've always been okay like that. Al and I have the most comfortable sort of relationship a pair of friends can have — we can pass the time together with no need for conversation, but still enjoy each other's company all the same.

"Sorry you had to come all that way to get me," I say. We've finally reached the rise in the hill, and I'm losing more than a bit of breath, but I know that my lungs will thank me for the unforeseen cardio once track season starts.

"Anything for you, Winry Rockbell." Al looks up at me and graces me with the softest of smiles. _Dear lord..._

We're just over the rise in the hill when I hear him mutter, "Uh-oh."

"What? What's wrong—"  _Oh._  There's Ed, sitting on the front stoop with an expression on his face that I can only classify as _odd_. "Hmph." I let go of Al's chair and stick my chin up in the air as I march toward the house's door, determined to get safely inside without having to talk to his abomination of a brother.

"Wait, Winry," says Ed as I speed by him, fumbling for my keys. His tone stops me; it sounds almost pleading, an emotion that I've never associated with him, ever. I can't help it; I look down at his face. He definitely looks a little sorry, but I can't tell if it's the genuine article.

My hand clenches so tightly around my key as I unlock the door that, when I remove it, I find irregular grooves left behind on my palm. "Al, can you bring these into the kitchen?"

Having rolled up the porch behind me from the ramp we installed last year, he takes the bags out of my hands. "You sure you don't want to keep the scissors?" he asks, his usual good humor lightening my mood just a teeny tiny bit.

But I shake my head. "No, it's fine." I then try to smile for him. This isn't his fault. "Thanks for all your help, Al." He nods and quickly disappears through the darkened entryway.

This time, I'm the one sitting down next to Edward. Despite the chilly air, the concrete steps are warm and strangely comforting.

"Look, Winry, I'm sorry—"

"I wanted to shout at you, too," I say before I even think about it. "It was long overdue," I add, a little more quietly this time. "Things've been... tense. Here."

He looks at me strangely. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Reconsiders. Atypical measures for a guy who isn't a stranger to acting first and thinking later. "I guess…" he begins. "No. I don't. I mean, I know, or, at least, I've assumed you've been annoyed with me, which I know I kinda-sorta deserve, but a shouting match... I wasn't really expecting things to go that far south, you know?"

I heave a sigh. I feel like all the wind's gone out of me. I have nothing left to give. "It's fine."

"But it's not," he counters. "And I'm sorry. I really am."

I offer him a half-moon smile. "Okay." I poke him lightly on the shoulder — his good shoulder. "Well, I'm sorry, too. I think I'm just..." I trail off. _Stressed out about school starting? Worrying that your life's somehow on the line?_

_Potentially crushing out on you like the idiot that I am?_

"It wasn't just some kind of stupid tension, though," Ed adds, startling me from my reverie. "I just, I... Ugh." His face drops down to his knees as he peers out into the distance. The path down to the main road is long, and it disappears over the crest in the hill he and Al had come up only a few weeks before. That already seems like a lifetime ago.

"I... You said that I've changed since we left," he explains quietly. "That just... It scared me. That's all."

"Why would that scare you?" I ask.

"Because..." He looks like he's on the verge of saying something big, and he bites his lip, which I find (with some regret) to be way too distracting. "It's... It's a long story."

"...Oh."

"Things in the city were a little... _different_ than I'd imagined them to be, is all," is what he concludes with. "And I'm worried it's going to prevent me from being friends with you. Or, at least, how we used to be." He looks at me, hard. "You can laugh if you want to."

I glance upward — some stars are appearing overhead. I've never felt less like laughing in my entire life. "Y'know, for someone who's so freakishly smart, you can be kinda dumb sometimes, Ed."

"Winry..."

"We're always going to be friends, you and me," I say. I'm surprised by my own firmness as I add, "No 'long story' can change that."

For the first time in what seems like forever, he smiles at me — _really_ smiles at me. And suddenly, out the corner of my eyes, the world seems to shift. Something's changed. Something's different. Something's happening...

...and I don't have the slightest freaking clue about what to do about it.


	4. Some Hellos, But Mostly Goodbyes

**WINRY**

 

"Winry! Hey, Winry! Win! _ROCKBELL!_ " Someone is shouting at me across the packed cafeteria, but it doesn't register with me until she comes into plain sight. She elbows me with an unfair amount of strength, causing me to double up and wheeze in surprise.

"Earth to Winry Rockbell," says Paninya Cranz in a more-than-slightly accusatory tone. "What's up with you? I haven't seen you since track ended back in June, and here you are, ignoring your best friend on the first day of school as well!"

I giggle at her mock-hurt expression, but I know that beneath it all, she's genuinely offended. I straighten out and throw an arm around her wiry shoulders, and I'm happy to see that she doesn't shrug me off. "I'm really sorry, Paninya. I really am. I know it isn't a great excuse, but work really picked up over the summer, and Granny needed help in the shop. But you're right, I should have made time to see you."

She huffs and grabs me by the waist so hard that my toes lift off the ground. I shriek in surprise, and now she's laughing at me. She gives me a quick spin and releases me. I totter dizzily over to the nearest table and sit down heavily atop its plastic surface. "It's okay. I know by now that all mechanics are absolutely, positively nuts for bolts." She comes to sit down next to me and drops a wink at me over one liquid-black eye. "I guess we're still friends."

"Just 'guess?'"

She ignores my affronted tone. "Let's compare schedules!" she exclaims, quickly gathering her dark cropped hair into a very short tail. We lean over the two slips of paper that hold our fates as seniors in their nonexistent hands. Paninya's brow furrows as she quickly compares subjects, timeslots, and teachers. "Well, we have calc together… and physics! Oh, I'm not in comp sci, I took shop instead, heard that's an easy A... Wait. You have to take  _gym_?"

I sigh, looking longingly at the empty space on her schedule where a physical education block typically should be. "Yeah. I forgot to sign up for the summer credit."

"Well, at least _we'll_ be together," interrupts an all-too-familiar voice.  _Ed._  I shiver slightly, despite the unseasonably warm September morning air.

 

* * *

 

**EDWARD**

 

Winry and Paninya turn around in tandem like the weird female hive mind that they are. I might've only left Vermont for a year or so, but those two seem to be as close as ever. I can see Winry giving me a cursory once-over, eyes widening only a fraction at the sight of my arm... which, in a moment of false confidence this morning, ultimately decided to leave uncovered, instead choosing the Chittenden uniform's short-sleeved button-down option. But it's Paninya's expression that truly demands my attention.

"Wow, Winry! You did an amazing job on this!" In a flash, she reaches out to and pulls down on my arm, stroking its smooth metallic surface. Technically, I can't feel a thing that she's doing, but there's always this weird psycho-sensory sort of thing that does its own little dance at the back of my mind whenever someone comes into contact with my arm or my leg. "It's so _light_!"

"Nice to see you, too, Paninya," I comment with just a hint of sarcasm. I watch her movements warily. Winry's gal pal obviously means well, but I've never been too keen on drawing attention to my prosthetics.

"Oh, yeah, hi," she responds distractedly, grabbing at my hand and testing the flexibility of its pointer finger. "Man, I wish my legs looked as sleek as this! This is absolutely stunning work."

"Hey, now, Dominic did a really good job on those," Winry counters. And there they are, reflecting the early morning light streaming in through the cafeteria's windows, just as conspicuous as my arm beneath Paninya's navy and green plaid skirt. From what I remember hearing from Granny, Paninya lost her legs in the car crash that took her parents' lives nearly a decade ago. When she was hospitalized and fitted for replacement legs, the orthopedist took such a shine to her that he decided to adopt her. Today, she and Dominic live somewhere farther out in the county, a little deeper into the woods, but she commutes to Chittenden because of its rep as one of the best schools in the entire goddamn country. And like Winry, she runs track, but her legs are fitted knee-to-foot carbon fiber, all constructed by her adopted father.

"Yeah, but would you talk to him anyway?" she asks Winry, dropping my arm completely in favor of tugging on hers. "It'll be like two old ladies swapping recipes!"

"Yeah, that's exactly how it works," I mutter. I can't help it; I cast a downward glare at my arm. When I look up, though, I can see that Winry's frowning at me. But all she says is—

"I'm sure Granny would love to have you two over for dinner sometime anyway—"

With an astonishingly loud crackle and pop, the voice of an eternally bored school principal filters over the intercom, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Good morning, Chittenden. This is Headmaster Mustang with just a few notes on today's proceedings." There's an audible cough, and then he continues.

"The homeroom bell will ring immediately after this announcement. Please proceed in an orderly fashion to your assigned homeroom classroom. Freshmen, you will gather in the auditorium for a short presentation from Deputy Headmaster Hawkeye regarding schedules, class expectations, and code of conduct." He sighs loudly then. "Is that it?"

I can practically hear Riza's eyes rolling. There's an awful sort of whine as she pulls the intercom telephone away from Roy. "Good morning, students. I have a reminder for the ladies in the building. Please remember that uniform guidelines are not suggestions, but rules. Your outfits are not intended to be worn like tiny miniskirts—"

"Tiny miniskirts?" comes a shout. "Every girl should wear—"

With another infuriated hiss, Riza's voice regains control of the microphone. "Just... _ugh_. Girls, listen to me. Uniform policies are outdated and sexist. Instead of forcing you to do something in order to make male eyes held less accountable for their grossly inappropriate actions, we should be allowing you to dress for your own comfort and self-expression. But because our trustees are all old men, myself and other female faculty members are required to perform routine length checks throughout the school year. We do _not_ like doing this, and we do _not_ want to stick you with a detention slip for something so ridiculously idiotic, so please, for your own sakes, just—"

Another cough echoes forcefully over the loudspeaker system. Paninya snorts with laughter. "I love her." And I have to agree — I'm pretty impressed by that speech.

"Well, welcome back, Chittenden," Riza concludes firmly. "Homeroom begins in five minutes. Make it a great day... or not. The choice is yours." With that, the line closes, and the steady stream of whispers that had gone unchecked during the announcements return to their normal, deafening volume.

"Where's homeroom?" I ask Paninya. Our surnames are close together in the alphabet, so I know that we belong in the same one.

She consults her schedule, frowning. "It's in a tiny classroom near the black box theater… That's strange, though. We have a new teacher!"

"Who?" I ask, curious.

"Someone named Mr. Nevy."

"Never heard of him..." Winry squints a little closer at her paperwork. "Wait, I have a new teacher as well! Miss... Sult?"

Paninya's flat nose, dusted with a light spray of freckles, wrinkles. "Never heard of _her_ , either." She shrugs. "C'mon, Ed, let's get this bullshit over with. God, I've always hated homeroom…"

I try to smile at Winry, but I'm already being dragged away. "Good luck, Winry," I manage.

She giggles as she looks between me and her crazy best friend. "Welcome back, Ed." With a tiny wave, she walks off in the opposite direction. I twist my body around a little bit so that even as Paninya drags me down a hallway I've never seen before, I can watch her go.

 

* * *

 

**WINRY**

 

Miss Sult is, in fact, a new teacher. She's also the most beautiful person I think I've ever laid eyes on. She wears her thick hair, even darker than Paninya's, in heavy curls that nearly reach her waist, and her large, expressive eyes are outlined perfectly with dark ink, giving her an overall dramatic and almost… I can't explain it, but her appearance is just so _compelling_. I feel as if I can't tear my eyes away from her.

She smiles at all of us, her deep red lips curling up at one side as if she knows a juicy secret. I blush, still utterly confused as to why I feel this way about her — utterly, uncontrollably entranced. But I'm not the only one, I realize. All around me, my fellow students gape at her, clearly just as transfixed by her impossibly perfect appearance as I am.

"Hello, students," she practically murmurs in what can only be described as a sultry tone. Very school appropriate. "My name is Miss Sult. I'm Chittenden's newest literature teacher, and I'm very excited to be here with you." The way she said 'you' made it sound like she's especially pleased to be with each of us as individuals. "Let's take attendance," she adds, and for the next half hour, my peers and I hang on her every word.

 

* * *

 

"I just had the weirdest experience," I confess to Ed later that day during fourth period. Because it's the very first day of school, we don't need to dress out for P.E. class — Coach Armstrong hands out locks and uniforms, and then we're free to do whatever we want, so long as we don't leave the sweaty confines of the gym. "My homeroom teacher, this Miss Sult person…Well, she was just _so_ beautiful…"

Ed thumps my shoulder. "Changing sides, Winry?" he asks, his voice unusually playful. If I'm being completely honest, I was _definitely_ checking him out this morning, and I have to resist the urge to do it again right now. There's just something so good about blue pants and a white shirt...

"Oh, ha ha ha," I say as sarcastically as possible. "No. The point is, while she was talking to us, I couldn't look away. It's like…" I bite my lip. "Okay, this is going to sound really dumb, but I felt like, like... she put a spell on me. Or something."

"How much Shakespeare do we have to read at this school, anyway?" Ed asks, but his amber eyes look thoughtful... and oddly tight. I can't explain it at all. I bite down a little harder.

"Unfortunately, too much. But this isn't  _A Midsummer Night's Dream_." I sigh, staring across the gym. On the other side, Coach Armstrong is being typical Coach Armstrong — his white dress shirt has been tossed aside for the sake of showing off his impossibly large muscles to a gaggle of incredibly intimidated freshmen. _That can't be school appropriate, either..._

"No," Ed responds. "It isn't. It definitely isn't."

 

* * *

 

**EDWARD**

 

_They're going to bury her out there, anyway,_ Hughes had told me. _Out in the countryside. Where she loved to play most._

_It'll be like we're watching over her, Ed,_ Alphonse had echoed. He'd been trying to make me feel better, but his smile hadn't even come close to reaching his eyes.

I dig the heel of my shoe into the linoleum floor in front of me as roughly as I can. From his place waiting beside me, Al says absolutely nothing, which I appreciate immensely. Granted, I can feel his gaze washing all over me, but I can ignore it. The calm quiet of the front office's waiting room is actually rather nice, so unlike any other student-filled place in this entire damn building. Buildings. Massive, money-grubbing, state-of-the-art prep school _plural_ buildings. Suddenly, a fierce longing for the noise of the city, or any kind of noise besides breezes through trees and livestock sounds, wells up inside me and I—

"Scuffing up my floors, now, aren't you? You wanna be the one to clean that up, punk?"

_Go to the front office after the final bell,_ he'd told me on the night that we'd arrived. _Riza and I will bring you and Al to the ceremony._ I'd never known Roy's manner to be so kind. But even though it's finally the day of, all that kindness has vanished. What I had seen on that evening just under a month ago is completely, utterly gone.

I just stare at him, and he stares back. His eyes are glossy black, and they betray absolutely nothing.

"Well, isn't this nice," Al mutters.

 

* * *

 

Roy and Riza stand side by side a little ways away from the crowd and whisper all throughout the entire service. It surprises me, because around Roy, Riza's usually nothing more than a quiet shadow. A quiet shadow that could kick my ass. But I can tell that they don't mean any disrespect by it.

To tell you the truth, the orator's words seem pretty meaningless to me. As he drones on and on beneath the unfairly beautiful sun, they sound far too overused and bland to even scratch the surface of a little girl gone far too soon. So I stop listening, because all that meaninglessness is making me mad. Hughes has always told me that I get mad because I care too much. But maybe, if I ignore everything around me, this time, I'll feel absolutely nothing.

Suddenly, though, there's an arm around my shoulders. Al's reaching out to me, pulling me tight to him, and in that moment, I know that no matter how terrible this world can be, at least I have the best brother in the entire universe. I might've failed him once, but mark my words, I'll never do it again. I'll never let anything happen to him again—

"It's okay, Brother," Al whispers to me, and I realize that I'm shaking. All of the sudden, the balmy September day seems much chillier, the country breezes less forgiving, the shadows cast by the surrounding gravestones growing longer and longer and—

I don't deserve his reassurances. I don't deserve to feel this way. I messed up. I could've stopped this. But I didn't, and now a five year-old kid is dead and in the ground. She smiled at me. She made me laugh. She looked up at me like I was a hero. She made me cookies, sang me nonsense songs, squeezed my hand when she could tell that I was captive to a feeling—

"You're allowed to feel," Al says in my ear.

I look over at him, aghast. I roughly elbow him out of the way. His face wells up with hurt, eyes blinking, chin quivering.

_Don't be upset, Ed! I love you! And so does Alexander. We love you, Little Big Brother!_

The coffin is a tiny little thing. It's being lowered into the ground, and all I want to do is scream. But before I can even think about actually following through with it, the box has been lowered into the uncaring ground, taking the day's last ray of sunshine with it.

 

* * *

 

Roy and Riza stand together in front of the newly planted grave. They're holding hands, and I want to laugh in their faces about it. Stupid open secret. Why don't they just give it up and let the whole world in on the truth? The headmaster and his deputy. Who would even care?

Does that stuff _really_ matter?

"Headmaster Mustang," I hear Al say to Roy.

"Hey there, Elric," he replies. "How're things?"

"Thanks for bringing us to the funeral."

Even from my vantage point hidden behind this weeping willow tree, I can see Roy's face twist. "I can hardly say it was our pleasure, but... We're glad you were able to attend."

"We can't even begin to understand how hard this is for you boys," Riza adds quietly. "But I'm going to say it anyway — we really, _truly_ are sorry for your loss." She looks at us, and for once, her steady, strong eyes seem to waver.

"It's not just _our_ loss to bear," Al says. Somehow, though, only God must know how, he's able to squeeze out a soft smile for her. "Everyone who knew Nina Tucker loved her, and everyone who knew her will remember her each and every day."

Roy hesitates for a second before laying a white-gloved hand on my younger brother's shoulder. "You're a good kid, Alphonse Elric. And that brother of yours..." The headmaster shakes his head slightly, and my gut clenches. "He's gonna need you."

"We'll have each other," Al replies firmly, and I'm torn between wanting to run at him and throw my arms around him... or punching this tree as hard as I possibly can, breaking skin and bone and everything else down until I'm absolutely nothing at all.

"You can come and talk to us at school if you need to. You know, if…" Riza trails off awkwardly. Al nods politely. The sun sets over the hill, the breeze blows through the cemetery...

...and Nina Tucker is gone.


	5. Confrontations

**WINRY**

 

"You guys are being really rude," I comment tartly over the breakfast table. School's only been in for a week, but after Ed and Al came home really late after the first day and had absolutely no explanation for where they'd gone off to, it feels like it's been years and years. They barely pay any attention to me, or the painstakingly-cooked most-important-meal-of-the-day that I've laid out in front of them, and quite honestly... it makes me feel pretty awful.

Neither one of them has reacted to my declaration yet. As is becoming the usual, they've shut me out, backs turned. Their heads are shoved together, harried whispers closing the space between them.

Something inside me twists. "Hey, nerds! I'm talking to you!"

Ed whips around so quickly, his ponytail whacks Al in the face. "Shut it, Winry."

The twisty thing yanks downward, hard, and overflows in my gut. I can't do anything but stare. Al looks between us, his face horrified.

"Leave her alone, Brother! None of this has anything to do with her—"

I put my plate down. I stand up. I shoulder my book bag. Granny enters the room, whistling some kind of nonsense. She sees me all ready to go and makes a surprised sort of noise. "Leaving so soon for school, my dear? You haven't even finished your breakfast!"

"Not hungry," I mumble. And with that, I make a clumsy beeline for the front door, my heart racing all the while.

 

* * *

 

It's nearly midnight, but I can't fall asleep. No matter how I adjust the curtains above my bed's headboard, the moon still shines persistently across my face. I feel clammy, almost flu-like, and my nightshirt is soaked with sweat. I decide to take my temperature — no use in getting really sick. Now that college applications are looming even closer, my greatest fear is missing a day of school.

 _Scratch that, actually,_  I think to myself as I slip out from under the damp covers and pull a pair of gym shorts on over my underwear. I pad across my room and slowly open the door, careful not to make too much noise.  _My new greatest fear is not knowing what's going on with those two idiots._

I tread as carefully as I can through the hallway and down the stairs, avoiding the third one down like the plague (it creaks pretty unpleasantly, no matter where your foot puts pressure on it) and reach for the kitchen door—

But it twists open without me. "Winry?!"

"Hhhh!" I fly back from the handle like it's burned me.

"Winry! It's just me!"

I sigh. _Alphonse._  "You scared me, Al."

"Sorry," he says weakly.

"Don't worry about it," I mutter as I pass him by. I plunk myself down on one of the kitchen barstools, and I see him sink a little lower into his wheelchair. "Why are you still awake?" I ask.

He just looks at me. Opens his mouth. Reconsiders. "Um, well…"

"Just spit it out, Al," I say tiredly, before I really think it through. "I'm sick of being stuck in the dark."

In the moonlight blazing through the kitchen's windows, I can tell that his eyes look droopy with sadness, so I take a deep breath and remind myself to go a little easier on him as I scoot my stool closer to his chair. We're facing each other square on now, up close and personal, just like we used to do when we were kids telling stories to each other underneath the soft roof of a blanket fort.

"You can't repeat any of this," he begins, twisting his hands together as he looks up at me.

"I pinky swear," I say solemnly, sticking out said finger.

He lets out a short laugh, which makes me feel reassured. "Okay, pinky swear." He twines his finger with mine, lets go, and leans in even further. Naturally, I lean in, too.

"Look, Winry, about Ed and I… Things... _happened_ back in New York City. Things that we're still kind of, well..." He sighs. "Things we're still, er... upset about. But they didn't just involve us. And a lot of people who weren't supposed to know a thing about them ended up noticing some of it, too."

"Noticing… what?" Suddenly, even though I have absolutely no idea why, my heart is thumping itself against my ribcage like a bird imprisoned in an airport, desperately seeking out the weakest points of its prison so that it can escape the maze of glass and metal and finally fly unhindered out into the blue.

Al chews his lip for a few stilted moments before continuing on. "The professor that we were staying with during our studies... Well, he did something. Something really... Something really, _really_ awful. It was a few months ago, but..." At this point, our foreheads are nearly touching, but he's not looking at me. His eyes seem to be gazing out at something that only he can see.

"We still haven't picked up all the pieces, I guess."

I take a deep breath, wondering which of my millions of questions I should ask him next. I decide on, "What exactly did he do?"

"It's so hard to explain, Winry... And I _want_ to tell you, I really do—"

The light switch flips on, and the moonlight streaking its silvery way across the kitchen floor vanishes. I stifle a scream—

"Brother!" Al exclaims, clearly surprised. "I thought you were asleep!"

Ed looks really, _really_ angry, even more so than he had at breakfast this morning. His eyes are narrowed into golden slits, and his hands rest on his hips, which are decidedly naked. I try really hard not to stare at his arms, his chest, his...

_Ugh._ I can't help it. I desperately hope that my fiery blush isn't as obvious as it feels. _Now's not the time, Winry!_

"Well, I'm not sleeping now," Ed answers, or rather, _hisses_. My eyebrows fly up in surprise.  _What's his deal?_

He looks between Al and me and says, "What are you two doing in here?"

 

* * *

 

Life can be awkward sometimes. Every teenage girl knows it. Life is awkward like getting your period in white jeans, like having a coughing fit in the middle of an exam, like your cell phone ringing through a theater in the middle of the movie's suspenseful climax because you forgot to silence it.

Actually, none of those things are awkward. They're just embarrassing. Maybe I've never actually felt true awkwardness before today. Because yes, I'm currently in the middle of awkward. Queen of Awkward Land, reigning from her awkward capital of Awkward City. Welcome to my awkward castle.

I bet you're wondering, why all of this…? Okay, I won't use _that_ word again. It's becoming pretty meaningless in my head, having repeated it over and over and over again since the beginning of third period. To loop you into the situation, at a more peaceful time in our lives (i.e., last week), Ed and I had picked each other to be physics lab partners. One hour, every school day. One hundred and eighty of those school days, to be precise.

And right now, we're sitting in said class, each of us desperately trying not to make eye contact with the other, which is sort of impossible, seeing as we're supposed to be measuring the velocity of different marbles rolling down an incline. As a pair. Together.

Oh, why didn't I partnered up with Paninya in the beginning of the year?

_As if you knew back then that he'd spend all his time ignoring you,_ the small voice in the back of my mind bitterly scoffs.

Suddenly, Ed's hand accidentally brushes mine, and I let go of the marble way too early. His fingers, unprepared, fail to catch the small glass sphere, and it audibly clatters to the floor and bounces away across the lab room's white tiles. A few of my classmates look up, including Paninya. Her eyes narrow, watching my face, which I'm sure is as red as a fire engine about now. I give her a infinitesimal shrug and dive after the marble, hoping all the while that I don't accidentally moon anyone with my so-called tiny miniskirt. (That would definitely fall under the abovementioned "embarrassing" category.)

The marble has rolled all the way across the classroom and settled next to Paninya's foot. I bend down to pick it up, and at the exact same time, she (very obviously) drops her pencil. She pulls me down beneath the table and asks in a harsh whisper, "What's going on between you and Ed, anyway?"

"Hey, Paninya, shouldn't we keep working—?" begins her lab partner, a mousy, bespectacled girl who looks oddly familiar.

"Quiet, Sheska, I'm trying to hold a conversation here!"

"Miss Rockbell. Miss Cranz. What's going on?" I can see Mr. Havoc's shiny dress shoes coming down the aisle towards us. Paninya shoves me out from beneath the black-topped lab table at an astonishing speed. We stand up together, and she holds up her pencil in the air like a victory flag.

"Nothing, sir. I dropped my pencil." All eyes turn toward us, waiting to see what will happen next. Our physics teacher eyes her suspiciously. Even though we've only been back for a few weeks, he already doesn't like her very much, and I highly suspect that it has something to do with her embarrassing him in front of Miss Sult a few days ago. She'd (admittedly, rather loudly) pointed out that he'd tucked his uniform sweater vest into his underwear — a pretty kindly thing to do, if you ask me, but Mr. Havoc definitely hadn't appreciated it.

"Seriously, she dropped her pencil," I echo, trying to help her out. "And I was trying to catch my marble."

"Hmph." Our teacher turns away, as does the rest of the class now that they know there's no drama unfolding. "Keep on working, you two. I'm checking all your lab notebooks at the end of the week, and they better be up to snuff." Every single student in the room groans in unison.

I let out a slow breath and begin walking back to my table, but Paninya firmly catches at my elbow. I try to pull away, but then she whispers in my ear, "We need to talk. I'm coming over to your house after school."

I nod and keep walking, nearly tripping once I hit the fog of awkward still surrounding our desk.

 

* * *

 

**EDWARD**

 

If there's one benefit to being stuck in P.E. as a senior, it's running laps. Raising my heart rate may seem counterintuitive to relaxation, but cardio really does help. After all, there's nowhere to go but forward, and the artificial orange loop never ends. 

I notice that I'm pounding too hard, so I try to lighten my stride, taking my knees into consideration, where my heel strikes the pavement. The late September wind is strong today, and it echoes harshly in my ears, whipping away all feeling. Fall's coming.

I try to empty my mind.  _Just concentrate. Put one foot in front of the other._

And for forty-five minutes, Nina Tucker doesn't cross my mind once.

 

* * *

 

**WINRY**

 

Paninya has taken up a good deal of my bed,and a late afternoon sunbeam shines down on her face instead of a shaft of moonlight. We sit criss-cross with notebooks on our laps and a physics textbook in between us, trying to decipher special relativity with little success. But then she proceeds to break the silence by dropping her notebook to the floor with a slap that makes me wince.

"Oh, c'mon, Win! Let's just ask Ed for help! We both know _he_ can do this stuff, he's way smarter than he looks—"

"No," I answer shortly, stopping her in her tracks. "No. I refuse to talk to him until he apologizes."

"For what, exactly?"

"Shutting me out."

"Wait a minute… _That's_ what this is all about? Isn't that, you know, kind of…" She trails off.

"Kind of  _what_?" I almost hiss.

She throws her hands up in front of her like a shield. "Kind of, er… Well,  _petty_?"

I toss my notebook to the floor as well. _SPLAT._ "No! No, it's not!" I gesture widely. "Those two show up here after over a year without any explanation at all. They tell me they want me around, but then they keep secrets from me. They keep whispering about something, and you wanna know what's the worst part?" I'm literally shaking at this point. It's like all of my frustrations are pouring out of me all at once.

"Al was about to tell me what's up! And then his stupid, idiot brother came in and freaked out, as if letting me know what's going on with them is the absolute end of the world!"

Paninya's looking at me oddly, and I realize that I'm breathing pretty heavily. I sigh, and my arms fall somewhat reluctantly into my lap. "Sorry, I... None of that was directed at _you_. I'm just…"

"Frustrated?" she finishes for me. She knows me so well.

"Yeah, that's it," I agree dejectedly. "I just... I can't _stand_ it when people refuse to tell me what's going on. I know that sounds childish, but... I just wanna be a part of things. You know?"

She gives me a quick side hug, patting me on the back. "I get it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I do," she affirms. "See, when I first started wearing my prosthetics, kids used to bully me all the time. They used to call me 'No-Legs,' 'Robot Girl'… Heh. That was a good one." She rolls her eyes. "But they treated me like I wasn't a person anymore. And I really resented Dominic for awhile because of it." She shifts her weight slightly on the bed.

"So one night... One night, I asked him why he'd saved my life. I told him he shouldn't've, because no one seemed to want me around. Everyone talked to me like I was some kind of freak, like I didn't belong, that I shouldn't even be alive."

I feel a huge lump welling up in my throat. Despite being best friends since freshman year, I'd never known this about her before. Everyone at Chittenden loves Paninya (well, everyone besides Mr. Havoc). She's intelligent, outgoing, athletic, and fun, and many of the younger girls that run track with us look up to her. Who could've guessed that only a few years ago, she hadn't been this person at all?

"What did he say to you?" I ask hoarsely.

"Well, he told me that _he_ needs me," she explains quietly. "And then he said, 'Fuck those kids, 'Ninya. You're better than the whole lot of 'em, and someday, they'll realize that and regret treating you like this. You'll see." She pauses, a smirk settling on her chin. "'And I'll beat up the little shits who don't.'"

I can't decide whether to cry over Dominic's warm wisdom or laugh at his frequent usage of expletives. "He didn't really say the f-word in front of you... did he?"

Paninya looks at me, and I look back at her, and then we both burst out laughing. I only just catch her before she slides right off my covers to the carpet, and this makes us laugh even more.

The door slams open, admitting none other than a rather indignant-looking Ed. I immediately stop giggling, but Paninya keeps on going when she sees his ridiculous expression.

"What are you hyenas going off about?" he asks sharply. "I'm trying to study!"

"So are we," Paninya counters around a stifled chuckle. "Wanna join up?"

Ed's metal fingers freeze around the doorframe. "Well…" Suddenly, we're looking at each other, for real, for the first time since that awful breakfast this morning.

_Dominic,_  I suddenly think. Dominic loves Paninya, no matter what she looks like or how she acts out, even when she gives him some serious lip (which I've seen her do on the daily). He sees right through all that. He's always looking for the good in her, and he's smart enough to put aside the bad. And all that personal stuff aside, he's one of my biggest role models in the engineering world, so if I'm going to be like him someday...

_Screw it._ I unfold myself from my bed and cross the carpet patch. I place my hand on top of Ed's, and I can't help but notice how warm the metal is. Then, before I really register the shock on his face, I wrap my arms around his waist and lean in.

"Sorry," I whisper in his ear. I don't know exactly what I'm apologizing for, but I have the strangest feeling that it might be the best thing that I could say to him right now. I squeeze him just a little tighter.

He's totally frozen beneath me, and I'm about to back away, but then his real arm comes to rest at my hip, and he whispers back, "Don't apologize, it's not like you did anything wrong… You didn't do anything wrong." He pauses, then rushes on with, "And I promise, we, no, I'll, _I'll_ figure this out—"

There's a cough. "Want me to leave you two alone?"

_Paninya!_  I jump back from Ed with a start... but reluctantly so. His arm around me made up for everything somehow, and I can't believe I have to let that go. His eyes search my face for a moment.

And then he says, "Okay."

"'Okay'… what?" I ask, with a slight tremble in my voice.

"Okay, I'll come study with you." He disappears from my bedroom's doorway, and Paninya falls back on my bed with a cackle.

"You should've seen his face! It's like he's never touched a girl before!"

"Cut. It. _Out_ ," I hiss, ducking down to retrieve our notebooks in order to hide my wildfire blush.

 

* * *

 

**EDWARD**

 

Winry is the absolute _worst_ , I decide later on that evening. I watch her giggle at Paninya's ridiculous antics, chew on her pencil eraser as she reads, twist her gorgeous tail of shiny blonde hair up and out of her face while she flips over flash card after flashcard. Meanwhile, I hope my face doesn't burn a hole through its own skin. Nobody on the goddamn planet has the right to be _that_ cute.

_Fuck a duck._ I'm ready to throw myself through her bedroom window for even _thinking_ it, but even my absolute shame at my own ridiculousness isn't enough to keep me from wondering if maybe, just maybe...


	6. Stranger Things

**EDWARD**

 

Answers finally come to me, although not in the way that I had originally expected. And after all of it is over, I don't know if I've been left for worse or for better, because suddenly, it seems as if everyone and everything begins to unravel...

 

* * *

  

**WINRY**

 

It's truly fall now, and the entire world seems intent on knocking me down. Between the gale-force winds and the knowledge that my MIT interview is just around the corner, I can't seem to stay upright, whether physically or mentally. It certainly doesn't help that my guidance counselor, Mr. Fuery, while always well-intentioned, is so obviously inexperienced. And unfortunately, it manifests itself in near-deathly clumsiness.

(Jeez, I sound like a walking thesaurus. Damn you, scholarship essays, making me all pretentious and stuff...)

Well, anyway. Seriously, though, that man has a penchant for breaking everything that he comes into contact with! For example, today, about halfway through my ten o'clock appointment (luckily scheduled during that loathsome P.E. block with Coach Armstrong), he manages to get his tie stuck in his paper shredder. Suddenly, an audible clunking and shuddering noise rises above his harried groans and intermittent apologies. I grab his arm, and together, we manage to tug the tie out of the shredder's hungry teeth, but not before it's taken a considerable chunk out of the starchy fabric.

"Sorry about that, Winry—!" With a sound like a firework taking off, the shredder explodes into a haze of billowing smoke, effectively cutting Mr. Fuery off midsentence.

"What in the world?!” Riza materializes out of nowhere, thank God, with a fire extinguisher in hand. White foam rushes from the nozzle, covering everything in sight… including my application paperwork. Together, the three of us stare at the mess in equal parts shock and horror.

"I never could've guessed paper shredders are so dangerous," Mr. Fuery ventures, voice faltering.

"Must've been an electrical short-out," Riza sighs. "I have no idea how these things work... I'll get Denny on the line and ask him to send up a custodian." She shoots Mr. Fuery the kind of side-eye that would make even Coach shrivel up inside.

"As for danger," she continues, "you're only a danger to yourself, Kain."

That's when Roy appears in the doorway of Mr. Fuery's tiny office. At first, I think that he's about to reprimand the poor guidance counselor, but then I notice how… well, upset he looks. It's strange, because that's never been a descriptor that I've associated with him. Boastful, boisterous, braggart, sure. But _upset_?

 _Something's wrong,_ I think to myself. Suddenly, I can hear my pulse racing in my ears.

"Hawkeye… I need to talk to you for a moment."

Riza appears to pick up on it, too. Her eyes widen slightly, taking in the principal, whose normally cool and collected composure has utterly vanished. His tie has disappeared, his hair is unkempt, and he's as out of breath as a person in the middle of a marathon.

"Okay," is all she that says, albeit strangely quietly. (So quietly, I wonder if I imagine it.) "Nice to see you, Winry," she adds more loudly. "Good luck on your interview." I give her a slight nod, and the two disappear from the office.

"Well," begins Mr. Fuery with a slight cough. "Let's try to get back to business… Oh, what a mess..."

"It's alright," I say, as reassuringly as I can. "But, uh…" I point to my now-foamy application.

He seems to immediately understand where my concern is coming from (not that it isn't particularly obvious). "Don't worry, Winry. These types of papers are just a formality at this point. We set up a database this summer that inputs everything electronically, which helps to speed up the application process anyway. All of your files are safe."

I breathe out a sigh of relief. "That's... That's good to hear." My college applications were officially Kain-proof.

"So…" He pulls over a trashcan and tries collecting the foam in his arms and depositing it there — I watch his movements with a growing sense of horror. "Your first choice is MIT? That's a competitive school, isn't it?"

"Yes," I respond, still watching his unsuccessful efforts. "Aren't you not supposed to touch that stuff?"

His eyebrows fly up into his sharp hairline, and he drops the foam immediately… right into his lap.

I stifle a giggle behind my hand. "Should I come back another time?"

"No, no! It's okay! I, uh... Let's just finish this." He sighs heavily, looking back over what remains visible of my paperwork. "Your interview is on October twentieth over Skype? You aren't going to Boston?"

"Yeah," I answer. My hands tremble slightly, and I already know that I won't be sleeping well the night before. "I've got a huge calc test the next day. Bad timing for me.“

"Understandable," Mr. Fuery nods. "Well, I trust you'll be ready. I noticed that you submitted your personal essay as well." He looks conflicted as he adds, "Is... Is it all really true? Wh-What happened?"

I know exactly what he means, and I don't want to talk about it with him, even though that's what he's here for. So all I say is, "I wouldn't make that up, Mr. Fuery."

"O-Of course!" he immediately replies. "I'm… I'm very sorry, Winry." I just shrug. Again, no use rubbing salt in old wounds.

"Uh, well." Mr. Fuery rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. "If you have any more questions, you know I'm happy to answer them."

"N-No, I'm good," I say hurriedly. Suddenly, I really want to get out of there. "I'm meeting with you next month again anyway, right?"

"Yes! You are! Do you want me to send you an e-mail reminder—" There's a harsh knock at the door, and I nearly fall out of my seat.

"Custodial services, open up." The man on the other side of the door, however, doesn't even wait for a welcome, and enters the office of his own accord. "Whoa," he comments, seeming almost pleased by the mess. "Nice."

"S-Sorry, Mr. Toglunty," Mr. Fuery mutters.

 _Toglunty?_  I wrinkle my nose.  _Now_ ** _that's_** _a name._  I hesitantly eye the custodian — he's probably the roundest person that I've ever seen in my entire life, and that counts baby Alphonse Elric. He sees me staring at him, and he gives me the strangest smile. _It's almost like..._

I stand up as quickly as I can. "I think I'm going to go. Have a good rest of your day, Mr. Fuery." The guidance counselor doesn't even seem to hear me as the creepy custodian begins untangling some kind of nozzle device from a large air tank on wheels, so I finally duck out into the main office, hugging my books tight to my chest as a form of protection—

—and bump straight into Dr. Bradley King, none other than the chairman of Chittenden's board of directors himself. "Miss Rockbell!" he exclaims, sounding pleasantly surprised. "Good to see you again!" I can't form a single coherent thought, so I just nod as quickly as possible. _This day’s getting weirder and weirder..._

"I've been trying to track down your principal, but I can't find that man anywhere! Would you happen to know where he is?" Dr. King asks in his typical amiable manner.

I snap out of my funk for a quick second and point down the office's hallway, hoping I sound more confident as I reply with, "The last door on the left. He's in a meeting with Vice Principal Hawkeye right now."

"Even better! I want to talk with them both, actually." He smiles widely. His teeth are very, very white. "Thank you very much for your help, Miss Rockbell."

"O-Of course," I respond, smiling in return. "Good-bye," I add on quickly, and then I bow my head politely because it seems right. "Have a nice day!" And with that, I finally escape the main office. But as I rush down the corridor on my way to lunch, I’m still thinking about that creepy smile.

 _It’s almost like he’s_ **_hungry_ ** _…_

 

* * *

 

"You look kinda shook up," Paninya comments around her pad thai. She slurps a noodle thoughtfully. "Did your guidance meeting go well?" We're eating our lunches outside on the green enclosed by the track circle, trying to soak in the last bit of sunshine before it disappears forever. The wind has died down, which makes me feel a lot better, because I don't feel like my face is being scorched off anymore. Not one of the nicest sensations.

"Yeah, I guess. It involved a lot of smoke, a fire extinguisher… and an encounter with the Bradley King.” I bite into my turkey and mustard sandwich, reveling in the taste of Granny's homemade sourdough bread. There's nothing like it in the entire world. "Oh, and my MIT interview did come up. Once. In passing.”

“Dr. King!” Out of everything, _that's_ the detail she latches on to, with an awestruck look on her face. "Wow! What was _he_ doing here?"

"Wanted to see Roy and Riza," I respond around my food. I gulp it down too quickly then, and it feels like my chest’s going to explode. "Medic! Medic!" I holler. Paninya throws me her half-finished water bottle, and I chug it like there's no tomorrow. I then proceed to collapse onto the grass and let out a loud belch.

"Smooth," says a new voice.

"Ed!" I sit up violently, and he begins to laugh. He then crouches down next to me and gently raises a hand towards my face. I stiffen, not knowing what to expect, but all he does is swipe his real thumb across my cheek. The heat transfer disappears all too quickly for my liking.

"You had some white stuff," he says by way of explanation.

"Yummy," says Paninya from somewhere next to me.

"Shut _up_ , Paninya–"

"I was talking about the pad thai, you self-centered _binch_!”

 

* * *

 

At the end of the school day, Ed and I begin the walk home together, trying to beat the rain that's suddenly appeared overhead in the form of ominous gray and black clouds. _Good-bye forever, sun,_  I think woefully. Vermont can be really beautiful, but I’m not a winter person in the slightest. That aspect of my personality always makes Granny chuckle whenever I bring up MIT, because Boston winters aren’t exactly known for being mild, either.

"Where's Al?" I ask him as we turn the corner toward the town’s main street.

"He's trying out for the basketball team," Ed grumbles.

"Why's _that_ a problem?" I wonder.

"Too tall…"

I giggle. "Oh, get over it. You're taller than him—“

"For  _now_ ,” he counters fiercely. "And only just barely. Who knows what’ll happen overnight? Kid grows like a goddamn weed…“

I think back to our encounter on the field. "Why were you skipping calc, anyway?" I suddenly realize. “Don’t you have it during first lunch?”

"Okay, Mom, don't be like that,” he says with a slight eye roll. “Roy pulled me out of class for a few minutes, and by the time we finished talking, the period was almost over. So I went outside instead to catch some sun.“

I blister at my new nickname. "Why would Roy do that?" His face darkens, his golden eyes narrow. As per usual lately, he doesn't respond.

"Hmph." I cross my arms over my chest, feeling both annoyed and defeated. "Does this belong under the ever-expanding category of things-we-can't-tell-Winry?"

Suddenly, he stops in his tracks, and I nearly bump into him as a result. “Have you ever considered why we're trying to avoid telling you?" he asks, strangely calm.

“N-No, I… I guess not." I grab his hand, the metal one, without thinking. "But that doesn't stop me from wanting to know."

He looks down at our connected hands, and I'm surprised when he doesn't pull away. "The truth can be dangerous, Winry."

"Oh, stop being a drama queen,” I say irritably.

"I'm not." He says it with such serious finality that I can't help but believe him. "I'm not."

Suddenly, the skies tear open, and what seems like a year's worth of rain drenches us, effectively cutting off the conversation. I release his hand, running across the hill toward home as quickly as possible. I may train for sprints, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t haul ass for longer distances when I need to.

I don't check once to see if Ed’s following. I’m still too annoyed.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, the third of October, an assembly is called. One thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight students dressed in white, navy, and green file confusedly into Chittenden’s cavernous auditorium, but Edward and Alphonse Elric are nowhere to be seen.

Paninya notices it, too. "Huh. I wonder where those two went. Ed was in homeroom this morning. We were talking about Halloween and stuff.”

I cross my arms over my chest and slump lower in my seat. "Screw Halloween. Actually, screw  _him_."

She bumps my shoulder playfully, mischief sparkling in her inky eyes. "Well, everyone knows you want to!"

I make a highly inelegant noise in response. "Paninya! Would you cut it _out_ —“

The harsh sound of microphone static screeches through the acoustically-tuned air, and people all around me rush to cover their ears. As it dies down, I cautiously take my hands away.

"Hey, there's Dr. King!” Paninya points toward the dim stage. "But where are…” She trails off, confusion laced throughout her voice.

I follow her gaze and find that, yes, Principal Mustang’s missing… and Riza, too! “Why aren’t they here for a whole-school assembly?“ I wonder aloud.

Paninya shrugs, but she looks concerned. "Maybe they’re sick?"

“ _Both_ of them?”

“Hey, they’re probably swapping spit, sharing germs, you know—“

“Oh, God, my _ears_ —“ I begin to protest.

The stage lights brighten and refocus, illuminating the four people standing on the stage. To the right is Dr. King, and then Miss Sult standing on the far left. However, the two people in between them are utterly unfamiliar — one has a very androgynous appearance, his shoulder-length black hair contrasting greatly with his beanpole figure. The other is extremely tall, with his equally-dark hair gelled into spikes and a flinty look in his eyes. They’re all in black, like a group of top secret spies or something. It’s oddly intimidating.

"That's Mr. Nevy, my homeroom teacher," Paninya says, pointing to the long-haired guy. "The one right next to Miss Sult."

I openly stare. "Not gonna lie, I couldn't tell if he was a man or a woman."

"He's the drama instructor," Paninya explains. "I think he likes maintaining a, er, _fluid_ appearance."

"Do you know who the last guy is?"

"Haven't got a clue,” I reply, feeling strangely uneasy.

Dr. King’s at the microphone, and a hush automatically falls over the sea of students. He smiles at all of us, his eyes — well, _eye_ , seeing as he lost one of them a long time ago — crinkling from within his handsome, square-jawed face. “What a daddy,” Paninya murmurs. I shoot her a particularly pointed glare.

“Good morning, Chittenden County Prep.” As usual, the chairman’s voice is warm and welcoming. _But where are Roy and Riza?_

“Good morning, Dr. King,” the crowd of students mumbles back.

The smile grows. “I have a very important announcement for you all. Due to… _recent_ events—“ The chairman shifts slightly in his mirror-polished dress shoes. “We will be welcoming some new members onto our Chittenden administrative team.” Paninya and I look at each other. She shakes her head slightly, then turns back to the stage.

Dr. King clears his throat. “To my left is Mr. Edger. He will be your interim headmaster for the rest of this school year.”

The auditorium explodes into frenzied whispers. All around me are faces filled with complete and utter shock. I can only stare up at the stage as the chairman gives Mr. Edger a slight nod. The man with the spiky hair steps forward, gives a wave that can only be described as blasé, and then returns to his post in line with Miss Sult and Mr. Nevy.

“Miss Sult and Mr. Nevy will be filling the positions of deputy headmasters as well,” Dr. King adds casually. The whispers turn into a veritable tidal wave of noise.

“Where’re Mustang and Hawkeye?” shouts a girl from the front.

To my surprise, Mr. Edger grabs the microphone right of Dr. King’s hands. Even more surprising, the chairman doesn’t look the least bit affronted. “Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye will be headmasters at Central Academy in New York City for the duration of this school year,” he explains in a buttery voice that immediately rubs me the wrong way. “They’ve been transferred at the recommendation of Dr. King and other Chittenden board members.” The whispers sound as if the strong October breezes have infiltrated the auditorium itself. Dr. King clears his throat again — Mr. Edger returns the microphone to him.

“Students!” the chairman begins. “I can assure you that your school year will continue on just as planned.” His smile never falters. “And on behalf of these newcomers, I sincerely hope that you will all stay just as open-minded and accepting of new ideas and thoughts as before. As you all know, that’s the Chittenden way.” He hands the microphone back to Mr. Edger.

 ** _Headmaster_** _Edger._ It doesn’t sound at all right in my head.

The new headmaster’s sharp face curls into a Cheshire Catlike smile. “Assembly dismissed,” he says. “Go to your second period classes.”

 

* * *

 

At P.E., yet another unusual thing happens. Instead of flexing his muscles at a group of terrified freshmen, Coach Armstrong stands off to the side, talking hurriedly with Major Miles Briggs, the JROTC teacher (and, reportedly, his future brother-in-law). Because of his distraction, though, I was able to peel off from the rest of the group and head for the track, figuring it would be a good idea to get in some practice. Try-outs for indoor track are starting soon, and I haven’t been spending nearly enough time on conditioning. If I _really_ want that captainship, I’m going to have to work my ass off for it.

Once out on the track, the winds have died down, but the sky’s just as grumpy as ever. I crouch down in front of a starting block, take a deep, steadying breath, and—

“WINRY!”

With a startled shout, I fall over and manage to scrape both of my knees on the springy orange pavement.

“Aw, _shit_ ,” someone says from overhead… and I realize that it’s none other than _Alphonse_. I take his proffered hand and stand up, not even stopping to inspect me knees beneath my running shorts. I’m too busy staring at his apologetic face.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbles bashfully, rubbing a hand across his reddening neck.

“You _swore_ ,” I whisper, almost reverently.

He looks taken aback, and chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, jeez. I guess I did, huh?”

“You _never_ swear.”

He leans in a little closer, tugging on my elbow. “Don’t tell Granny.”

I mime locking up my lips and tossing away the key. “It’s cool.” I then remember my conversation with his brother yesterday, so I say, “How’d basketball team tryouts go?”

Al’s eyes light up. “I made the team! Even with my chair, they’re letting me play!” His happiness is so infectious, I can feel some tears welling up in my eyes. Al had never loved his wheelchair, which is understandable. He’d been forced into it, and under incredibly tragic circumstances. But he’s never let it hinder him from going after what he wants, and I find that to be one of the most impressive things about him. He doesn’t let his limits exist.

“Amazing!” I exclaim, throwing my arms around his broad shoulders. “You’re really something, Alphonse Elric!”

“Thanks, Winry Rockbell!” He lightly punches me on the shoulder, but then a pensive expression suddenly emerges on his face. “Hey, by the way, have you seen Ed anywhere?”

I think back to both brothers’ absence in the auditorium during Dr. King’s assembly. “No, I thought he was with you,” I respond, totally confused. “You know, when you were skipping out.”

He shoots me a slight frown. “I wasn’t skipping anything. I was recruited by Mr. Fuery to show some new students around the school.”

I feel embarrassed by my false accusation, but I plow on with a shocked, “New students?” Chittenden _rarely_ took on new students, especially so far into the school year. Ed and Al had been a surprising exception, but I’d assumed Granny had worked her magic with Roy. But other people?

“Yeah, they’re from overseas,” Al explains. “Apparently there was a mix-up with their visas, so they were only allowed into the country a week ago.”

“Where are they from?” I ask, intrigued.

“China.”

“Oh.” I blink, hard. “Why in the world would Chinese students want to come to Chittenden, Vermont?”

Al shrugs. “Reasonable question. I didn’t want to pry, though.” Weirdly enough, he has the slightest of blushes on his pale face, but I don’t have time to question it, because suddenly, a loud crack of thunder echoes overhead. I shiver — my skimpy gym clothes are hardly adequate cover against yet another rainstorm.

“Dammit,” I mutter, glaring up at the sky. I turn back to face him. “Hey, if you wait for me to change, we can go to the caf together for lunch.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he responds, beginning to wheel his way back toward the school. I fall into step beside him, but right as I’m about to pull open the door to the locker rooms, he stops me, a hand on my arm.

“Winry… Would you actually mind looking for my brother right now? I’m worried about him, and…” He sighs heavily. “You know. It’s _that_ time of year again.”

“Wait, what—“ I stop short. “Oh.”

It all rushes back in a torrential flood of images: Silky brown hair, come undone from a loose ponytail, scattered across a frighteningly pale face that would never smile again. “Auntie Trisha,” as I called her — the mother that became mine when I needed one most. And then came the urgent knocks on Granny’s door, followed by screams, followed by silent tears, followed by night. A sunset on a hillside, the darkness of a gravestone overshadowing the faces of two boys who no longer looked like themselves. A roaring fire, so thirsty that even a rainstorm couldn’t put it out—

And finally, a good-bye with no explanation, and the back of a long red coat vanishing into the distance aboard a train to New York City.

“Today’s October third.”

Al nods. Suddenly, he looks far away, like his entire mind’s jumped back a calendar year… just like mine has.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll go after him.”

 

* * *

 

I round a hallway corner absentmindedly, wondering where the hell Ed could've gone. I can think of a few spots, but none of them are at the school. And if Paninya saw him this morning, he would still be here… right?

But with that puzzled thought, that's when I walk straight into a boy that I've never seen before. "Sorry, I—“

"It is no problem," he responds with a toothy smile. His English is perfect, yet there's an unfamiliar lilt to his accent. His eyes are coal-black and narrow, his dark hair slicked back into a ponytail not unlike Ed's, but much shorter. Most remarkable of all is his shockingly yellow blazer, proudly disobeying Chittenden’s strict dress code. At first, I wonder if he even goes here, but then I remember Al.

"Are you from China?” I ask. A split second later, I realize that that might have been far too forward. However, the strange boy seems delighted.

"Yes, I am!" He sweeps into a ridiculously low bow, and I have no idea what to do. He stands right back up and takes my hand, looking me straight in the eye. "I am Ling Yao, Prince of Xing Province! And you, young lady…" He lowers his voice and wiggles his thin eyebrows.

"You are quite beautiful. You must be a _princess_!"

I don't even have time to blush. “I-I… uh…" I stutter. That's when I notice a girl standing slightly a ways off, her eyes and high ponytail just as dark as the features of the prince called Ling Yao. She's very slight and short, but for some reason, I get the feeling that she could pack a powerful punch. "I'm Winry," I say when I regain my voice. I shake his hand, which is still clutching at mine. I try to let go of him without being rude, but he just isn't having it. So I resign myself to it, because if he's _really_ a prince, I don't want to take the chance of offending him.

"Um… What's your name?" I ask in the direction of the silent girl. I suddenly get a strong impression that she's like the Riza to his Roy, although I don't know where it comes from.

"I am Lan Fan," she answers in a voice as cold and clear as a bell. "I am the prince's bodyguard."

"Bodyguard…?" _Whoa._

"Where are you going, Princess Winry?" Ling Yao asks.

I can't help but giggle at the way he pronounces my name. "Um, well, I'm looking for a friend. But I… I don't know where he is."

"Come, Lan Fan!" the Prince shouts imperiously, causing me to nearly jump out of my uniform-appropriate flats. "Let us find Princess Winry's boyfriend!"

My eyes widen, comically I'm sure. "He's _not_ my boyfriend—“ I begin to argue.

“And where are _you_ supposed to be?" asks a new voice. I turn around, suddenly feeling colder than I had a moment before. It's Mr. Edger, the new headmaster. He looks even taller and more imposing than he had on stage this morning. And for some unfathomable reason, he’s wearing sunglasses. Indoors.

I gulp audibly. "I-I was just—“ I turn back towards the prince and his bodyguard by way of explanation, but—

—they've vanished!

"Going down to lunch," I finish weakly.

"Well, get going, then,” he admonishes. "Students shouldn't be running loose around the corridors while classes are in session.” He pauses, and even through the smokescreen of his sunglasses, I can see his eyes flash. “I’d hate to see you land in my office, Miss Rockbell." In a staccato flurry of dress shoe heel taps, Mr. Edger walks off toward the main office, and I let out a restrained breath.

It's only as I hurry down towards the cafeteria, desperate to avoid him for the rest of eternity, that I realize that I had never told him my name.


	7. Sweater Weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just us, you find out  
> Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about
> 
> -The Neighbourhood, "Sweater Weather"

For the first time all year, I'm alone after school – Paninya has a parent-teacher conference, Al has a scrimmage, and Ed is  _still_  nowhere to be found. That's partly my fault, because after my run-in with creepy Mr. Edger, there was no way I'd be caught out in the hallway by myself again. But I know that I need to uphold my promise to Al, and honestly, I'm starting to get really worried.

I can think of an entire list of places where he could be, especially on a day like today, but all of them aren't at school, and if he had been here this morning, there's no way he could've left. I hesitate next to his locker, wondering if I should just try and call him, but he's notorious for leaving his phone off.

_I need help,_ I realize.  _I need someone like…_

I shake my head.  _No use going down that street. After all, Roy said it himself – she's gone._

_Roy! Of course!_

I dash down the hallway, practically praying all the while that Mr. Edger won't be lurking around in the main office, although this seems pretty unlikely.

I skid around the doorframe to the office lobby, where three women and two men sit conversing over the low walls of a four-desk cube farm. The two school security guards – Maria Ross and Denny Brosh – are there, as well as school secretary Rebecca Catalina, head librarian Vato Falman, and someone I don't recognize at all. She stands a little to the side, not quite joining in on the joking and laughter.

Suddenly, Miss Ross notices me lurking in the doorway. "Winry? What are you still doing here?"

"Need – to see – Roy," I pant, trying not to fall over.  _Boy, am I out of shape._

Miss Ross's face darkens, and Mr. Brosh's last joke falls flat. Even the ever-smiling Miss Catalina wears a frown.

"Sorry, Winry," she says. "He's meeting with someone."

The woman I don't recognize flips her extremely long blond hair over her shoulder and makes a sound that I can only describe as a "harrumph." Her narrowed eyes are frighteningly icy and her full lips are intimidatingly pursed. Despite her sour look, she's very beautiful. She also reminds me greatly of someone I already know, although I can't quite place it.

"It's just the Elric boy. I don't understand why you can't interrupt them. They've been in there all day!"

_Elric. Edward. Edward Elric._

"Perfect," I whisper. "Just perfect."

Mr. Falman looks worried beneath his mop of graying hair. "Miss Rockbell–"

I don't even wait for them to let me in; I barge past a spluttering Mr. Brosh and make a run for Roy's office door at the end of the hallway.

I can't see her say it, but I swear that the blond woman says something like, "Now, why didn't I try that?"

* * *

I've become a bit of a rebel today, if I do say so myself, so when I reach Roy's door, I don't knock; I practically hurdle in and then slam the door behind me with an impressive crash. I hang onto the interior handle for dear life, trying to calm my racing heart.

"Winry?" Ed's voice comes from behind me, colored with disbelief.

I turn around slowly. "Heeey."

_Wait. Someone's missing._

"Where's Roy?" And then–

"Where the  _hell_ have you been all day, Edward? Al was looking everywhere for you, and I was to, until that creep Mr. Edger–"

"We meet again, Miss Rockbell."

Like a villain from vaudeville, the new vice principal emerges from my blind spot in the corner of Roy's office.

* * *

There's a cautious knock at my door. "Winry?"

I'm lying facedown on my shaggy carpet square, and honestly, I wouldn't even care if the world ended right then and there. So I just shrug.

"Winry. We're coming in."

"Mmmph," I say to the carpet.

A gentle hand is placed on my shoulder. "Everything's going to be okay, Win," says Alphonse.

I grunt.

"It's just one detention."

I groan.

"C'mon, Winry! It's just one little, measly detention. MIT isn't going to care that you were charged with breaking and entering… and disregard of authority figures… and degrading language…"

"Hey, little bro. I'm starting to feel like reassuring people isn't your forte."

"No, it's okay," I try to say, but it comes out more like, "Buh, ess ucky."

I overhear some quiet whispering, and then the hand disappears from my shoulder, only to be replaced by another. This one's intent on lifting me out of my misery, both physically and mentally, but I think I put up a pretty good fight – I go as limp as a rag doll as it attempts to prop me up against the side of my bed.

I slump over, only to be caught by a sturdy shoulder. That's when I freeze, because it fully hits me that Ed's the one who picked me up, and Al has totally vanished.

Ed seems to have realized the exact same thing. I slowly look up towards his face to gauge his reaction, and our eyes meet, only to fly away rapidly from each other.

I sigh. And then I don't think too hard about any potential consequences, because I give into my semi-exhaustion and allow my head to fall straight into his lap.

"Oh," is all he says.

"Is this–"

"No, you're fine, it's just…" He hesitates, and it's like a slap in the face. I sit up wildly, almost banging my forehead against his, and I'm sure that my face has been replaced by a red-hot jalapeño pepper.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," I chant, trying my hardest not to think of what my head was on top of just a few seconds ago.

Of course, it doesn't work at all.

A nice-sized blush has settled across Ed's nose and cheeks, which makes him look even cuter than usual –  _Stop! Stop! Stop!_

"No, it's okay, don't worry! Winry, seriously, it's not a big deal." Maybe I'm imagining it, but his voice sounds higher-pitched than usual. Then I notice that his hands have settled on my shoulders from behind, and once more, I feel like the entire world has stopped in its tracks.

"Uh…"

"Right," he begins.

I turn around to face him, very, very slowly. I'm afraid I'll scare him away, somehow, even though, to my knowledge, Ed isn't afraid of anything but milk.

Our faces are very close together then. Neither of us speak, just look at the other. His eyes, turned even lighter by the rays of sun streaming through the window, practically burn into mine.

_If I lean in,_  I think.  _If I just lean in a little closer…_

When he breaks the extraordinarily tense silence, I imagine that it sounds just like the  _Titanic_  scraping up against the fatal iceberg – an altogether unwelcome shock heard around the world.

"Here," he says about nothing in particular. He pushes me away to a safer distance, and for a childish moment, it feels even worse than watching little Elicia cry at her father's funeral. I suddenly feel strangely empty.

He won't look at me as he says, "Winry… Al and I came to a decision today."

I swallow drily. "Yeah?" I croak. "What's that?"

"We're going to tell you. About everything. But first…"

I'm stunned into silence. I have nothing to say – I just wait for him to finish.

"First, we need to talk to Roy."

I find my voice once more and ask what I've been wondering all along: "Why are you telling me now?"

"Well, you're in danger."

I laugh with no humor. "You already used that as an excuse  _not_  to tell me."

He shakes his head, finally looking back at me, and his eyes are neither afraid nor angry, but  _sad_. His eyes are wide and hollow, and sad.

"Before we were just guessing… But now, we're sure. We're in danger. In fact, everyone's in danger.

"And it's all my fault."


	8. Dashboard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it would've been, could've been worse than you would ever know  
> Oh, the dashboard melted but we still have the radio  
> Oh, it should've been, could've been worse than you would ever know  
> Well, you told me about nowhere, well, it sounds like someplace I'd like to go
> 
> -Modest Mouse, "Dashboard"

"That day" has nearly come to a close. Roy Mustang sits at the head of Granny's worn-out dinner table, and I don't know what to think. They're finally going to tell me the truth. I should be pleased. I should be excited, even.

But all of the sudden, I'm absolutely terrified. Because if what Ed's saying is true, then in the next few minutes, my life might change forever.

Our principal looks even worse than he had this morning, when he had announced Riza's departure in front of the packed auditorium. He won't even look at us; he keeps his head firmly in his hands, and his elbows rest on the table's whorled surface. Looking at him, I suddenly think of Atlas, the titan damned to carry the entire world on his shoulders for the rest of eternity.

Granny's present at our meeting, too, and for the first time, I begin to wonder how much she knows, and how much she's been keeping from me. I feel slightly resentful about that.

_Do they not trust me? Do they think I can't take it? Will they lie to me, or water-down the truth?_

I shake my head vigorously, trying to get rid of those thoughts with all my might. They're just not worth having.

Al clears his throat, bringing me back to the present. "There's something you all need to know." Despite his usage of the plural, he seems to be looking straight at me, his gentle face lined with worry.

"Ed and I… Well, as you all know, we left Resembool a year ago today. We told ourselves we'd never forget why we did, and we haven't. But we soon discovered that no matter the physical distance, you can't shake the memories that you've already made, even if you try your hardest to leave them behind."

Ed is the only one who hasn't sat down at the table with us. He instead stands in the corner, looking out the broad windows at a moon that doesn't exist tonight. I can see his face by way of its reflection in the glass, but I can't make out his expression.

"A year ago today, Ed and I set our childhood home on fire. Mr. Mustang, you already know why we did this, but…" Suddenly, his eyes are pleading. They bear straight into mine.

"You need to understand! We had no idea what would happen! Please–"

Roy interrupts him with a voice rusty from disuse. "We understand that, Elric. Just continue."

"I…" He draws in a deep breath, slumping back into his seat. He looks totally defeated. "Okay."

Suddenly, Ed peels himself away from the window and comes to sit next down next to his little brother. He extends his metallic arm and whispers something into Al's ear. The latter nods slightly and sits back up a little straighter.

Ed speaks now, which surprises me. "Winry… Do you remember what you said to me on the first day of school?"

"You're going to have to be a  _little_  more specific, Edward," I say, and it comes out much harsher than I'd intended.

"We were sitting together in gym class, and you told me that you found Miss Sult's appearance strange."

The memory of that conversation quickly resurfaces, but I'm no less confused. "What does my homeroom teacher have to do with any of this?"

"Do you think that  _she_  is… strange?"

I wrinkle my nose, but I catch myself blushing. "Well…" I hesitate. "She is… strangely beautiful, I guess."

Nobody laughs at me for this, so I plow on: "But she seems like a normal human being to me."

"She isn't," Roy says shortly. It strikes me as strange, and I try to understand his odd expression – his dark eyes are narrow and fierce, a dramatic change from their prior emptiness.

"She isn't at all."

"What… is she like a supermodel or something?" I wouldn't be surprised if that's the truth at all, although I would be slightly confused as to why a supermodel would want to teach English at a country high school.

Roy chuckles humorlessly. "No, I mean, she isn't  _human_."

It takes a second for that to register with me, and when it does, I begin to laugh it off. "Is this some kind of joke?" I ask, totally disbelieving. But as I look around the table at their utterly serious faces, my laughter dies away.

"Oh, c'mon, next you guys will be telling me she's an alien from outer space. Isn't it just a bit too early to be pulling April Fool's jokes?"

"We wish it was a joke, Winry," Al responds solemnly. "But it's really true. Miss Sult isn't human, or, at least, how you and I would define a human being. And neither is Mr. Nevy. In fact, we even suspect Mr. Edger–"

That third name convinces me much more, and the incredulous smile slides right off my face.

"Wait, so let's just pretend they  _aren't_  human–"

"They aren't," Roy interrupts.

"Okay, but–"

"Why would we lie to you about this?" Ed suddenly thunders, and the entire room goes quiet.

"God, if you want to know everything so badly, aren't you going to give us a chance to explain?"

"Brother–"

"He's right," Granny says suddenly, her thin lips compressed to a hard line. "Winry, these boys are risking a lot for you right now by telling you the truth. Count your blessings now, before…" She trails off ominously, and I shiver slightly, despite the muggy, close heat of the post-dinner kitchen.

"Sorry," I mutter.

"It's okay," Ed replies in kind, looking somewhat apologetic, which is a stretch for him. "Just… listen. Okay? We're doing the best we can."

I take a deep breath and nod.

Al picks up where we left off. "Winry, you should know that Brother and I left home to live in Central on Principal Mustang's orders."

"Wh-why?" I ask, swinging my head in Roy's direction. He merely rolls his eyes.

"And you troublesome brats just  _had_  to show back up again, didn't you?"

Ed ignores this. "He wanted us to do a bit of an investigation. See, Mr. Hughes was beginning to uncover some…  _stuff_  while working for the Fuhrer. Documents that had passed through unknown hands, important forms lacking Bradley's signature, and a name that kept appearing everywhere."

"What name?"

"Um, well…" Al looks uncomfortable, and Ed turns away with a grunt.

"It was Hohenheim. Van Hohenheim."

"Your  _dad_?"  _Whoa._ "But… why? I thought he left the country! Went to America, or something!"

"Apparently not," Al says with a noncommittal shrug, although I can tell that he's just as bothered as I am.

"Unless someone's  _using_  his name. We still don't know that it's him."

I look over at Granny, and her beady eyes are rock-hard beneath her round spectacles.  _She was good friends with Hohenheim,_  I think, remembering.  _She doesn't want him to be the bad guy._

_But is there even a bad guy?_  "What does this all mean, then?"

"Many of the papers passing through Hughes's office weren't even government-issued. Instead, they were all marked by something called the Homunculus Company. And our da – I mean, Hohenheim, he was listed as its chairman. The head executive."

I frown. "What does homunculus mean?"

"It's an ancient alchemic term. You know about alchemists, right?"

"Yeah, weren't they those crackpot medieval scientists? They wanted to make gold, extend their lives?"

Ed snorts loudly, making me jump a little in my seat. "Well, now, that's just rude!"

Al gives him a look. "Based on everything Hughes found… And we helped him do it, all throughout this past year. Based on everything…

"We think that this Homunculus Company is manufacturing fake human beings. And Hughes must've been caught investigating, so they had him–"

"Murdered," Roy interrupts, and takes a swig from a cup of something that looks too dark to be coffee. I wonder offhandedly where he got it.

"But why would they, er,  _murder_  him for something like that?" Suddenly, the implications of what the brothers are telling me hit me full in the face.

"You think your dad murdered Mr. Hughes… don't you?"

"At least indirectly," Al murmurs, staring down at his tightly-clasped hands.

"Why…" I trail off. I think back, long ago, to the one day I spent with Van Hohenheim, before he disappeared from our lives forever.

_He'd taken us three to the park, and then bought us ice creams from a colorful truck. Later, when Ed and Al fell asleep, he'd given me Ed's cookie sandwich to finish and told me a fantastical story about his life as a young man in a distant land called Xerxes. I fell asleep, too, listening to him, and when I'd woken up…_

_He was gone._

"Your dad wouldn't do that," I say firmly, surprising myself. Granny perks up, looking interested. "He would never do that."

A shadow passes over Ed's face. "He abandoned us and our mom, Winry. And that's what killed her in the end, you know. Not the fainting spell, not the flu, but his own cruelty." He pauses briefly and looks to Al, but his brother won't meet his eyes.

"He's a bad man, Winry."

For awhile, we all sit in silence, and I listen to the infinite questions rolling around noisily in my head like the clattering of the numbered cubes in Granny's bingo spinner.

"So Principal Mustang sent you to Central because he wanted you to help Hughes dig for information," I begin, breaking the silence. I turn to Roy, and by the look of his red eyes, I'm becoming increasingly convinced that he is, in fact, drunk.

"Why would you do that?"

His answer surprises me greatly. "I want to take that bastard Bradley down, that's why."

"Fuhrer Bradley? That's crazy!"

"His name never came up anywhere, the whole time," Al reminds him gently. "He's innocent until proven guilty."

"Someone who orders a genocide isn't an innocent man, Elric."

"The Ishval War wasn't a genocide!" I protest. "They had weapons stockpiled! They were weeks away from invading us!"

Roy rolls his eyes and takes another swig. "I'm glad at least one of us pays attention to that asshole's bullshit propaganda."

"Hey–"

"We don't know if that's true, either," Ed comments with a frown. "But we do know that the Homunculus Company, whatever it is, means business."

There's one final question that refuses to budge, and I know that I need to ask it.

"So why are we all in danger, anyway?"

Ed slams his metal fist into the table, and with a tiny groan, a series of nuts and bolts spill from its beautiful interior.

"What the hell, Ed?" I exclaim angrily. "You realize how long that took me to finish, right?"

"Sorry," he replies, although he looks anything but. He rubs his jaw, and then asks, "Do you want me to answer your question or not?"

"Ugh," I say about nothing in particular.

He takes that as a yes. "Winry, you need to know why Al and I…"


	9. Giving Up the Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And though it's been a long time  
> You're right back where you started from  
> I see it in your eyes  
> That now you're giving up the gun
> 
> -Vampire Weekend, "Giving Up the Gun"

_Winry, you need to know why Al and I... Well, why_ I _burned down our mom's house._

It's probably after midnight, and I even though I tried to go to bed right after Roy left, I couldn't sleep. So, like the insomniac I am, I hopped out my window, slid down the roof over the garage, and crossed the frosty yard to the shop. My grandfather built it years ago, right before he died of the same strain of flu that later killed Trisha Elric, for Granny to work on her prosthetics. It's an ugly tin structure shaped like a Quonset hut, but it's probably my favorite place in the world. After all, as Granny says, it's where the magic happens.

I had pulled on my worker's jumpsuit, which was a good move, because my only key is stashed inside one of its many pockets. I unlock the bottom of the door, and it slides up and away with a faint hiss. I hear Den bark from somewhere inside the dark house, and I stop in my tracks, but after a few moments, it's quiet once more.

I flick the switch hanging by the door, and the industrial overhead lamps shudder to life one by one, bathing the Quonset in a warm glow. The worktables are littered with all kinds of screws and gears, and mounds of scrap metal lie in haphazard heaps all over the concrete floors. I can see the beginnings of a project that looks somewhat like the special pistons shelled in carbon-fiber that give spring to Paninya's leg prosthetics, although these are in the shape of arms. Just by looking at them, I can see Dominic's influence.

I begin to sweat. The Quonset's always unbearably hot, even at night, because the sun does a good job of heating up its metal structure during the day. I plug in one of the fans, but it doesn't do much for my feverish skin. Because no one's around, I decide to strip down to just my bra, tying the sleeves of my jumpsuit around my waist as I peel the entire thing off my sticky torso.

I sit down next to the arm that Granny's in the process of constructing, suddenly feeling deflated. I came in here with one purpose only – to calm myself down. Working in the shop has always been a happy pastime for me. I've made so many memories within its metal confines. Spending time with Granny, learning how to properly use a wrench, building my first arm, wiring Ed's back together–

"Winry?"

_Speak of the devil._  For some reason, I'm not surprised at all that he turned up. I don't even turn around in my chair – I just wait for him to sit down next to me.

But he doesn't, so I'm forced to swivel around to face him. I can see nighttime behind him, broken up by a scattering of silvery stars and winds driving restlessly down the hillside's dry grasses.

"What do you want from me, Ed?" I ask, suddenly feeling brave. I don't even care that I'm nearly half-naked in front of him. The nighttime air is a blessed relief.

"What do you want from me?" I repeat.

"I want you," he answers simply, coming closer, a fire smoldering in his golden eyes.

"To what?"

"Nothing. I just want you." And suddenly, his face is right in front of mine, and I can't find enough air to breathe.

"I've always wanted you…" He leans in but passes my lips, mouth instead skimming down my neck, mouthing something across my jaw, haunting my face with feathery nothings. My chest feels tight, my thoughts scattered to the wind. He's pressing down on me, his chest nearly touching mine, and I can feel the sharp edge of the table chafing up against my exposed back.

It's so, so hot. His hands rest heavily on top of my shoulders, strong fingers kneading into my exposed collarbone, flesh on flesh–

_What?_

There's a crazed urgency in his touch. Suddenly, it begins to hurt, begins to raze, begins to burn. His lips finally meet mine, but there are no fireworks. There's no feeling in it, only passion, and it makes me feel sick.

"Ed, Edward, stop–"

The wall behind him seems to sag, the ceiling above spinning wildly, and something smells like smoke. Smoke, ash, death. Then, in a strange moment of clarity, a drop lands on my upturned forehead, searing the skin there. I can see it, dripping down the end of my nose like quicksilver.

More drops begin to fall, past me and onto the floor, burning holes into the concrete like it's Swiss cheese.  _It's the ceiling,_  I realize.  _The ceiling is melting._

Fires start all over the room, catching onto tables and chairs and piles of scrap metal. They blaze high without any fuel, reaching up to the eroding ceiling, and all the while, Ed keeps touching and feeling and _kissing_ –

"Stop!" I scream, my lungs hoarse, and that's when I wake up in my bed, in my room, safe and sound.

* * *

It's the weekend, thank goodness. I don't know if I could've possibly sat through school today and made it out alive. Even in the warm light of day, my heart is still beating a rapid tattoo. I'm sitting outside on the porch, trying to soak up the healing sunlight as I wrestle with  _Othello_ , but my seemingly eternal struggle persists, and reading it makes me think about Miss Sult, which doesn't help at all.

"Winry?" asks a voice, soft and hesitant. I freeze, not daring to turn the page.

Edward Elric sits down next to me without really looking at me. His metal hand pushes a golden strand of hair behind his ear, and this reassures me, because the Edward in my dream didn't have any prosthetics at all.

Thinking of Dream Edward scares me even further, and it takes a lot of effort to push him back farther into the recesses of my messed-up mind. But I still can't ignore his presence, even if he had never been real.

Suddenly, I'm shocked by the image of his lips on mine, harsh and unyielding, and I feel like I'm going to throw-up.

_What does it mean?_  I wonder.  _Ed wouldn't do that… would he? He wouldn't kiss me like that._ He _isn't like that._

_As if he'd kiss you at all,_  scoffs a small voice at the back of my mind, and I swear that if I could, I'd punch it in its nonexistent face.

My copy of  _Othello_  disappears from my slack hands. I cautiously turn towards Ed and study his face as his eyes skim the play's pages.

"Heavy stuff," he comments casually after some time, handing it back to me. I take it silently, waiting for him to continue. But he doesn't, so it's my turn.

"You aren't like Othello!" I blurt out suddenly, before I can keep it in.

He looks at me like that was the last thing he'd been expecting me to say.

"What?"

"You couldn't, er, I mean, you wouldn't, that is to say–"

"Kill someone?" I shudder slightly. "Or, kill myself?" he finishes, almost wryly.

I trail off, because for once in my life, I have nothing to say.

"You're wrong… but right." He looks contemplative, and I'm scared to even breathe, because I don't want to disrupt him.

"I don't  _want_  to kill myself, but if the opportunity presents itself, where if I did, it would help someone, or even save their life… Yeah, maybe." I make a little noise in the back of my throat right then, and his eyes finally meet mine, golden and fierce.

"But you need to understand that I was wrong, so wrong, before. Burning our house down was the biggest mistake I've ever made. And worst of all, I nearly killed Al in the process. You remember how sick he got afterwards. I told myself it was his asthma, a reaction to the smoke or something, but I felt like it happened because he was scared of me. And I knew that if he was, it would be right of him.

"Because I decided to end his life for him, and I told myself it was for the greater good. I justified fucking  _fratricide_ , Winry! I did it like the coward I am, and I was prepared to go fucking through with it, all for ridding the world of my idiot father–"

_He's crying,_  I observe, feeling outside of myself.  _Ed's crying._

_Do something._

I grab his shoulders, none too gently, and pull him tight against me. The feeling of him banishes Dream Edward entirely, and just for that, I hug him even closer.

"You know why I'm right, though," I whisper, stroking his back without any reservations. "Why I'm right about you. You said it yourself."

His arms slowly encircle me, and I can feel his indecisive hands at the small of my back.

"C'mon, Ed, just say it."

"Because in the end, I couldn't do it. No matter the price, I couldn't kill someone I… l-love."

_Love._

I press my face into his shoulder to hide my own tears.


	10. Collect Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a lie, I want it to be true  
> The rest of the ride is riding on you
> 
> -Metric, "Collect Call"

The next morning, we sit across from each other at breakfast in tense silence – not because of each other, but because of what we know must be done. So I break the unbearable quiet and ask the question that no one wants to answer.

"What next?"

He immediately stops shoveling his eggs into his mouth, although his eyes remain downcast to his nearly empty plate and his hands grip his utensils tighter atop the table's whorled surface.

With a voice gruff from disuse, he says, "We need to find Van Hohenheim."

* * *

It's one thing to say it; actually doing it is an entirely different task, and a much more difficult one. So we decide to consult Granny's infinite wisdom, but she isn't much help at all.

"If Hohenheim doesn't want to be found, he'll stay lost. Trust me. That's just his way." She says it not unkindly, but with a determined finality, and it's exactly the opposite of what Ed wants to hear.

"Crazy old woman!" he shouts to the sky, startling a nearby bird from the branches of the old oak on the hill. It's been there forever, even longer than the Quonset hut, and it overshadows the latter in a comfortable sort of way, especially when the light's hitting it just right. "Can't see past her own feelings–"

"We both know that that's an unfair thing to say," I chide him gently. I pull my jean jacket tighter around my shoulders, bracing myself against the oncoming breeze. I stare up at the sky at the bird, wheeling raggedly not too far above us. It looks so lonely that I suddenly feel irrationally upset, which reminds me of the unexpected surge of emotions that accompanied my finishing  _Othello_ , which reminds me of books, which reminds me of the–

"Library."

"What?"

I roll forward onto my knees and then onto the balls of my feet and shake the prickly feeling from my legs. I then reach out a hand to pull him up from his prone position on the crackling October grass. He takes it, albeit with a bit of confusion.

"I want to find out more about this Homunculus Company, and the library might have answers."

* * *

Of course I'd already consulted the web, because I trust Google with my life, but no matter what terms I used for my search (and believe me, I tried everything, from the word "homunculus" and even, I hate to admit, "Fuhrer Bradley"), nothing came up. Besides, if all the documents that Hughes found were in print, shouldn't at least  _some_  of the clues be, too?

The search kiosks are unbearably slow, and the keywords I used during my previous searches don't turn anything up either. But I'm determined to find something, anything, really. So it's time to play it old school, and because Ed's taller than me now (which bothers me to no end), I drag him along into the stacks because he'll be able to better reach the higher shelves.

He looks highly uncomfortable, slouching against the edge of a shelf as he watches me fruitlessly dig through a political anthology written pretty recently, although I can't tell if his faraway expression results from boredom… or something else entirely.

"Hey!" I know it's mean, but I snap my fingers in front of his face anyway to get his attention. He jolts out of his reverie and glares at me, but at least he's paying attention now. "Could you grab that one over there? The spine has the Fuhrer's name on it."

I'm still leery of the remote possibility of incriminating the Fuhrer, but that guilty thought immediately vanishes in the face of Ed's sudden infuriatingly cocky grin. "What do you need again,  _shorty_?"

"Twerp," I hiss in response. I push him aside, none too gently, and grab a stepping stool resting near the shelf's corner. I move to step up onto it, but I lose momentum and fall backwards with a surprised gasp–

–right into Ed's outstretched arms.

"Sorry," I mumble, infinitely glad that my back's to him and he can't see my burning face.

"S'okay," he answers quietly, and I'm suddenly well aware that we're the only ones around in this section of the building. The library is surprisingly big for being built in such a small town, but the higher the floor, the less people you see, and the less well-lit it is. The fourth floor is nearly empty; the closest voices I can hear are seemingly millions of miles of stacks away.

I jerk away from him as quickly as possible and stay turned away, trying to calm down. But it's nearly impossible, and it doesn't help that this moment is reminding me a lot of a terrible Julia Stiles movie I'd seen recently. I never knew people could get so hot and heavy in between bookshelves…

But those thoughts are completely banished when I hear Ed suddenly say, "Hey. Look at this."

I think my wildfire blush has faded enough that it's safe to face him again, so I turn around and see him reaching down towards the shelf I hadn't looked at yet, the one that begins the floor's history section. Some of the books look like they haven't been touched for a century and a half, and the one he picks up is so dusty that I can imagine it having sat here since the beginning of time.

"'The Science of Deconstructing and Reconstructing Matter,'" I read over his shoulder. "What does  _that_  mean?" I feel a strange twinge, somewhere in my chest, when I look closely at the cover, with its tall, golden letters embossed on its brown leather surface.

 _It looks a lot like the books that Ed and Al's dad used to keep up in the attic,_  I suddenly think.

"Alchemy," he whispers, almost reverently, which draws my mind back to the situation at hand. "Equivalent exchange…"

"W-what are you talking about?"

He sits down on the stool with an audible  _plunk_ , and I pull over another to sit down next to him, effectively blocking off the aisle. He then proceeds to rapidly flip through the heavy tome, releasing clouds of dust with every page, causing me to sneeze quite a few times.

"Aha!" he cries out, face flushed with excitement, and I look over to see the word 'Glossary' printed in curly black script that seems  _handwritten_ , which makes me wonder how old this book really is.

At this point, I don't bother asking him any more questions; I just sit and watch him in his enraptured state. He traces his finger down the page, mutters something, then flips farther back, past columns upon columns of words that I don't even recognize – ' _aes cyprium_ ,' 'Dragon's blood,' and 'hepatic air' among them.

I follow his roaming figure and suddenly shiver, because I wonder how it would feel to have it trailing down my spine, or across my collarbone, or–

 _Cut it out, cut it out, cut it OUT,_  I silently chant, but it doesn't do much good.

"There," he points, effectively bringing me back to the present, which I appreciate greatly. "'Philosopher's stone.'"

I wrinkle my nose. "What does  _that_  mean?"

"'The Philosopher's Stone, also known by various other names such as the Red Stone, the Fifth Element, etc., is a powerful transmutation amplifier. Due to the absolute law of alchemy being equivalent exchange, the stone gives the illusion that someone is able to override that law. Being that it is an illusion, the powers of the stone itself are not unlimited, and only appears to allow an alchemist to bypass equivalent exchange as long as the stone retains its power.'"

Some of this is sounding extremely familiar, but I can't place it at all, which frustrates me to no end. Hazy memories and broken-up voices flood my brain, and it all comes back to–

"Your dad," I say suddenly, and Ed turns towards me so quickly that I fear whiplash.

"What?"

"He has this book. It's upstairs, in the attic, where he keeps those suits of armor. You know, the ones that Al used to like to climb in and out of."

"Too bad that all of that is a pile of ash and rubble now," Ed responds darkly, and I blurt out a hasty apology, because I'd somehow forgotten, like the moron I am, that only yesterday, it had been "that day."

"Hey, don't worry." He suddenly laughs, but there's no humor in it. "At least we can take this thing home with us for a few weeks. You got a library card?"

"Yeah, actually." I thumb through my wallet to check and pull out the blue plastic triumphantly… and whack him square on the cheek with it.

"Ow!" he hisses.

"Oh my gosh!" I exclaim. "I'm so sorry! Here, let me see!" And without really thinking about it, I take his chin in my hand and tug him towards me, simultaneously pushing his shaggy blond bangs out of his eyes so I have a better view.

I can't help but giggle. "Oh, look, it left a mark…" I trace the faint red outline with my pointer figure, and only then do I notice the way he's looking at me.

 _His eyes look so bright,_  I think.  _So beautifully bright…_

"I… Sorry," I apologize lamely, which seems like the millionth time today, although this time, I strangely feel like I shouldn't.

He doesn't say anything, just looks at me, and I can't help but think of the moment we shared on the front stoop, the scene in my bedroom… and how he'd broken down right in front of me, hugging me so tightly that I was left breathless.  _But he pushed you away, too,_  I recall, remembering how close together our faces had been, and then how far apart they became moments later.

So I quickly take my finger away and stand up, attempting to brush all conspicuous dust streaks from my black leggings and failing miserably, but not really caring, because I can only think of how badly I wanted to… well, keep doing whatever I was doing. Paninya's knowing smirk lazily floats to the forefront of my thoughts, and I regretfully repress it, because I shouldn't get my hopes up. It just isn't worth it.

Besides, we have bigger fish to fry.

"I think I'm going to grab that book on the Fuhrer," I say quietly. I can't shake the feeling that it might be helpful, and anyway, it gives me an acceptable excuse to look away from him. And luckily, I can handle the stool this time, because I couldn't stand to ask him to retrieve it for me again.

"Okay," he responds hollowly, and I wish that I could read his mind, just this once, and know what he's thinking. A space in my chest suddenly painfully constricts, but I don't have time to think about why, because that's when we hear–

"Brother? What are you doing here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The definition of 'Philosopher's Stone' that Ed reads to Winry came directly from the Fullmetal Alchemist Wiki.


	11. Aha!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicest, sweetest, utmost in everything  
> So charming, very charming  
> Well-read, can play the fool, no one's ill at ease  
> And put their deepest Swiss bank trust in you…  
> No one saw it coming
> 
> -Imogen Heap, "Aha!"

"Brother? What are you doing here?"

There stands Alphonse Elric, hand resting lightly on the first history shelf on which we had found the book that could quite possibly be the answer to all of our problems.

"Hey! Winry!" Al takes long-legged strides down the aisle and catches me by the waist, pulling me into a deep hug that I'm definitely not ready for. "Haven't seen  _you_  in awhile!"

"Er, yeah," I say, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Nice to see you. Why are you here?"

"We're looking for books for research on our AP World History theses."

_Wait. 'We?'_

"Alphonse, I think I found the right boo-ook–"

I peek over Al's sweatshirt-encased shoulder and see a girl standing there, a thick anthology entitled  _The Mythos of Xerxes_  clutched tightly to her chest. She wears her extremely long and silky-dark hair in twin braids that cascade gently down her rose-colored dress in a fashion that my own thick blond tail can only dream of. She had originally sported a cheerful smile, but it's slowly dripped into a grimace, and I put two and two together and realize why.

I push Alphonse away from me at lightning speed and give her a tiny wave. "Um, hi! I'm Winry… and you must be May!" And just to be safe, I add, "Al talks about you  _all_  the time!"

"Winry!" Al hisses, a shade too twitchy to appear cool and collected, but my assurance of his affections has seemed to soften her up just a little bit; she offers me a small nod of the head, a smile slowly returning to grace her round face.

_Oh, I am going to have_ so _much fun with this._

May then turns to Ed and cocks her head curiously. "Are  _you_  Alphonse's brother?" she asks, her high voice slipping like water over her consonants.

"Yeah," he responds, winking at her. And then–

"Are  _you_  Alphonse's girlfriend?"

" _Oookay_ ," I say loudly, punching him on the arm none too lightly as Al looks on in equal parts embarrassment and horror. "You know what? Let's go get lunch together or something and forget he ever said that."

"Sounds good to me!" Al tacks on hurriedly. "I could really use a sandwich!"

"Will you be putting lots of  _may_ onnaise on it?"

That crack earns Ed another punch, and I drag him away from Al's spluttering towards the elevator bank before he can do any more damage.

* * *

We approach the circulation desk, and I drop our two books –  _The Science of Deconstructing and Reconstructing Matter_  and  _The Rise of Fuhrer Bradley_  – onto the counter with an unceremonious  _whump_.

Behind the desk sits a girl totally engrossed in a novel; I rather conspicuously lean forward and see that it's one of those sexy romance stories that Granny has never let me within one hundred yards of (although, frankly, my love life has been so stunted up to this point that I probably wouldn't understand a word of the content). The girl doesn't look anything like the unrealistically busty woman featured on the book's cover, with her flowing red locks and "come hither" expression, but she's actually pretty adorable, with an appearance like Velma Dinkley from the Scooby-Doo series, complete with enormous glasses and a thick brown bob.

"Hi, can I help you?" she asks as she hastily stows her book underneath the desk, but I'm too busy looking at her to really notice, trying to figure out where I've seen her before–

"Do you work at the Staples across the street?" I suddenly blurt out.

She blushes a little in response. "You're scissors girl, right?" She looks over at Al then. "And you're her friend?"

"Yeah… Sorry about that," I respond sheepishly as Al nods. "I was kind of mad at someone that night." Ed isn't even looking at me as I say it, but I swear that out of the corner of my eye, his cheeks have turned slightly pink.

"What's your name?" Al asks.

"Oh, me?" The girl's blush deepens. "I'm Sheska. Sheska Lau."

_Sheska, Sheska, Sheska._  Where had I heard that name before?

"You're in our physics class!" I cry out in triumphant realization, which abruptly ends in embarrassment, because honestly, if she wasn't Paninya's lab partner, I probably would've never noticed her.

"Yup, that's me." She squirms slightly in her seat. "Um, so about those books…"

"Oh, right!" I pick the books up one at a time and hand them to her, and she lifts a scanner to their barcodes. But as she scans the alchemy book, the computer begins beeping loudly, drawing a few glares from the quiet readers sitting at the tables around us.

"Huh." Sheska pushes her round frames farther up her small nose. "The records say that this book shouldn't be in circulation." A tiny frown begins to take shape as she lifts its cover, looking for a card pocket that doesn't seem to exist.

"I can't let you check this one out. I'm really sorry," she says, and she looks like she means it. She begins to pull it off the counter.

"Hey, wait!" Ed slams his metal fist down atop its surface, and his arm shudders audibly, which reminds me that the wrist joint needs repairing after that episode two nights ago. Sheska cringes away, looking between him and the arm with wide eyes, although thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice.

"We really need this book. Can't you help us out?"

She looks very conflicted at this. "I… I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't risk this job. I need the money for tuit–" Her blush spreads to the rest of her face, and she doesn't complete the sentence, although I suddenly understand why.

"It's really alright," I say gently, feeling very lucky (and a bit sad all the same) that my parents had left Granny a large sum of money to pay my way through college. "Sorry to bother you. We'll just take these two." I add May's book to the pile, and Sheska scans it, and then my library card.

"Thanks a bunch," Al says as we take the books back. "See you around!" Together, we shuffle towards the library exit, but then–

"Wait!"

All four of us turn around in near perfect unison to see Sheska round the desk, her hands twisting together rapidly.

"I. Uh." She approaches us with a deer in the headlights expression, and I wonder why she looks so nervous all the sudden. "Wait for me to finish my shift, and then…"

She's close enough for us to hear her whisper, "I'll tell you what I know about the philosopher's stone."

* * *

Half an hour later, we end up squeezed into a booth at the Subway across the street. Al munches somewhat dejectedly on his mayonnaise-less sandwich (I can tell that he's still embarrassed enough about what transpired before that he's decided to forgo his favorite condiment) while Ed obnoxiously slurps his cola from a plastic straw. His elbow digs into my ribs, and I consider swatting it away, but just then Sheska begins to speak.

"I…" she starts, then stops to clear her throat. "I-I… S-see, I have a photographic m-memory."

"Really?" Al asks curiously. "That's pretty cool! Studying for tests must be a breeze!"

"I… yeah." Her blush returns, and I can see May giving her a full-on glare, which makes me wonder if Sheska's starting to crush out on my favorite gentle giant. I smile half-heartedly, questioning when exactly our lives became so complex in seemingly every way possible.

"But that's not the point." Al's compliment seems to have bolstered her confidence, because she loses her stutter. "It's just… I know it sounds crazy, but if I read a book, I can memorize it entirely."

"Oh!" I gasp suddenly, and everyone turns to look at me. "You've read  _that_  book, haven't you? The one about alchemy?"

Ed looks impressed, which is praise in its highest form from him. "Wow. You can remember  _every_  word from that gigantic doorstop?"

"Ed…" I grumble.

"Well… yes. Y-yes, I do."

"So, what do you think we need to know from it?" asks Al, getting right down to it.

Sheska starts wringing her hands together again, her eyes downcast and full of worry. "You're not going to like my answer."

"What do you mean by that?" Ed wonders.

"Do you know what philosopher's stones do?"

"They augment alkahestry," answers May quietly from the corner of the booth, and four pairs of eyes whip around in her direction.

"Alkahestry?" Al wrinkles his nose. "What's that?"

"It's a form of alchemy, historically practiced largely by Xingese people, although there are records that some Ishvalans also learnt it," answers Sheska almost automatically, as if dispensing information verbatim comes naturally to her… which, I suppose, it does.

"Ishvalans?" Al tries asking, but May shakes her head.

"Never mind that. It works for alchemists, too," she says firmly, but I'm curious about the presence of Ishvalans in our conversation, too, so I make a mental note to look into it for him.

"Wait. You're saying that people were  _actually_  alchemists?" I suddenly realize, remembering Sheska's definition.

She takes a delicate sip of her jumbo iced tea, contemplating her answer. "They're just myths," she finally says, although it sounds as if she doesn't quite believe it, and therefore, neither do I.

"Well, what else can you tell us about the philosopher's stone?" Ed asks.

Her eyes are very, very sad, I notice. I lay a hand comfortingly on her arm.

"You don't need to tell us if you don't want to," I say.

"N-no, it's fine." She draws a deep breath. "It's just…"

"It takes a great catastrophe to form philosopher's stones. They disturb the very nature of our universe." She stares right through me as she says this. "The ancient Cretans used to say something along the lines of, 'there's no such thing as a free lunch,' and they were right."

"But you're bumming this lunch right off of us–"

"But I'm going to feel indebted to you for it, and therefore, you're going to eventually benefit from your act of generosity, see? Because I'll want to pay you back."

"Well, what if you weren't this honorable, and decided to take the lunch for free?"

"I'd lose your trust, and maybe even your friendship," Sheska counters just as quickly. She absentmindedly runs a hand through her hair as she adds, "There's always a price for everything, even if it doesn't seem obvious at the time."

"Equivalent exchange," Ed suddenly whispers, repeating himself from before, and she nods at him.

"Yes, the theory of equivalent exchange, the principle underlying every alchemic reaction... and, naturally, the creation of the stones."

"What kind of catastrophe creates one, then?" asks Al. "If they're so powerful?"

Her eyes suddenly refocus, and zoom right in on the Elric brothers, much to their surprise. Her gaze is imploring as she blurts out, "Don't judge him too harshly. He realized his mistake a long time ago. You _need_  to understand that!"

"Who?" they inquire together.

"Van Hohenheim, of course. The creator of the first philosopher's stone... and the engineer of the Xerxesian society's collapse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of 4/24/14, this is as far as the story has gotten in terms of its equivalent on fanfiction.net. Remember, same story name, under my same pen name.


	12. When U Love Somebody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby, remember on the bus and my hand was on your knee?  
> When you love somebody, it's hard to think about anything but to breathe
> 
> -Fruit Bats, "When U Love Somebody"

"You really did a number on this," I mutter, my index finger lightly skimming across the prosthetic arm's steel surface. "I can't believe that the wrist joint malfunctioned after just one little hit…"

"Well, about that," he begins nervously, purposefully avoiding my gaze. "It was kinda-sorta fractured… already. When I got here."

" _Edwaaard_!"

I only refrain from hitting him over the head with my favorite wrench because at that moment, Granny walks into the Quonset, toting a large grocery bag filled with scrap metal.

"Oh," is all she says, watching me poised to deliver a well-deserved deathblow. She then notes the arm I've just deconstructed, lying out naked on the operating table, and purses her thin, wrinkled lips.

"What if…"

"What if what?"

She rummages through her bag, mumbling to herself about "alloy this" and "enameled that," and finally produces something shiny and smooth.

"Melt this down," she says, or rather demands. She places it easily upon the table, and I reach for it, delicately turning it over in my gloved hands. It's startlingly lightweight, but it looks anything but brittle and breakable. My mind lands on an image of a pimped-out motorcycle I'd seen at the stoplight outside of the shopping center–

"Is this chrome?"

Granny nods. "If you're going to patch him back up, you might as well add some new improvements, right?"

I nod quickly, excited at the prospect of a new project. Anything to avoid working on the latest paper Miss Sult's assigned us for Lit class.

_She really_ is _evil._

"This is going to take all weekend," I warn Ed once Granny's left the room. "You okay with being out of commission for a few days?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, but I can tell that he's hurting. "Yeah, yeah, do whatever you want, gearhead."

"If you call me that one more time, I swear you'll be without an arm for a  _month_!"

* * *

Ed, Paninya, Sheska, and I decided to team up on a group project for Physics, but we aren't getting very far.

"This assignment  _must_  qualify as cruel and unusual punishment," Paninya grumbles, stabbing at one of the graphs with her mechanical pencil. Calculating the data was easy enough, but we became thoroughly stumped after plotting it out. It forms a sort of bell curve for acceleration, and we're supposed to extrapolate information from it – namely, what kind of machine the graph depicts.

"How are we even supposed to know this?" Ed asks, rolling his eyes. "Havoc's a mean, mean person." He slumps forward onto his stomach, burying his face into my bedroom's fluffy carpet square.

"He might be a little upset, seeing as Miss Sult's taken a leave of absence," Sheska comments absentmindedly, tracing a line over the data.

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, she's going to be out for the next month or so," she continues. "Something about being called back to Central City for a 'consultation,' whatever that means. Mr. Nevy, the drama teacher, went with her."

"But Mr. Edger's still here?" Ed asks quickly, and in that moment, I know that we're thinking the exact same thing.

_Something's_ definitely _going on._

"I'm going to get some water," I say loudly.

He catches on immediately. "Me, too!" We stand up in tandem, and I grab ahold of him to make sure he's steady. Being without his arm can sometimes mess with his equilibrium, and that makes me feel a bit guilty. But only a bit, because we both know that this is pretty much all his fault.

"You guys want anything?" I ask hurriedly.

"No thank you," Sheska responds politely.

Paninya shakes her head as well, and then starts making kissy faces that Ed thankfully can't see.

"Don't take too long!" she crows.

I slam the door none too gently in response.

* * *

"We need to find them," is the first thing that Ed says once we tumble down the stairs towards the kitchen. I know that when he says that, he's thinking about his dad, too. He tried to hide it, but I could tell that Sheska's story really got to him.

He sits down heavily at the table then, simultaneously forcing its legs backward at a precarious angle. "But how? Granny won't let us leave Resembool without a really,  _really_  good excuse."

"I have no clue, but we need to figure it out, and fast." I haphazardly pull two glasses from a cabinet, nearly knocking an entire row over, and slam them up against the water filter built into the refrigerator. "We need to think outside the box."

My mind is going way too fast, one thought messily spilling over into the next. And then–

"Riza!"

"What about her?" He takes the glass I hand to him and chugs it down.

"Do you think she could be in danger?" I settle down next to him, clutching the glass tightly in my hands.

He frowns. "I didn't consider that, but…" He pauses, thinking.

"Wait a minute!" He leans back farther in the chair. "This is going to sound pretty bad, but… what if we told  _Roy_  that we really think she  _could_  be in danger?"

"And then he'd freak out and rush down to Central to make sure that she's okay–"

"–and we could get him to take us with him!"

We both burst out laughing, even though there's absolutely nothing funny about the situation. But it just feels so goddamn nice to do so.

"H-he might n-not believe us, y-you know," I say once I can form a coherent sentence again.

Ed hiccups. "Yeah, but he's at his breaking point. I think he'll jump at the chance to see her. And besides…

"People do crazy things when they're in love."

_Wait. What–_

With a sudden  _squee_ , Ed's chair finally falls backward, and unable to catch himself, he topples to the floor.

"Ed!" I shout, practically falling out of my own chair as I drop to the floor. I hover uncertainly above him, but he looks okay, just a little shaken up.

"Ugh, Jesus–" He blearily rubs his eyes with his remaining hand. "That sucked."

And then, "Ow."

"You alright?" I ask, unable to hide the worry from my voice.

"Yeah, just. My neck."

"Oh," is all I can say. "Should I get Granny?"

"Nah, it's okay, just help me up."

I begin to do just that, but then a pair of voices enter the kitchen, and I stop short, one arm still supporting his shoulders.

"Who–"

I shush him with a finger to my lips, curious as to whom it is. We're partially concealed by the long tablecloth that Granny had set out for lunch, so we can listen in without being seen.

"I wonder where those losers got off to," says the first voice, and I immediately recognize Paninya. "They're absolutely ridiculous. Why don't they just make out with each other already?"

With a tiny squeak, I let go of Ed immediately, scooting farther underneath the table and hiding my burning face in my hands.

"They'd definitely make cute babies," says the second voice – Sheska – and I'm ready to curl up and die at this point.

"Whoa, sister, don't get ahead of yourself. Let's see if they can even touch each other without blushing."

_This is it. This is how I'm going to go out. Hiding underneath a table and spontaneously combusting as a result of my best friend's gargantuan mouth._

Because it isn't like she's wrong. I mean, you know, about the whole blushing thing. Not the babies thing. I don't want to think about that, at all, ever again.

I chance a glance over at Ed, and that's the moment that he decides to look over at me, because our eyes meet, and I can practically feel myself being lowered into the grave that Paninya's dug for me.

But then their conversation resumes, and I snap back to attention, peeking through a hole in the tablecloth and desperately trying to ignore Ed's eyes with all my might.

"These are pretty cute!" Sheska's saying, and I can see her gently spinning Granny's K-cup carousel. Granny's addicted to those tiny portions of coffee, and she uses the Keurig machine that I got her last Christmas every morning. And then–

"You're pretty cute, yourself," says Paninya, and before I can stop myself, I grab Ed's arm, squeezing tightly. He hisses in pain, but I ignore him. I  _need_  to hear what happens next!

"Um…" I can perfectly envision Sheska's quiet blush. "Thank you. Very much."

"Hey, no problem!" There's a smile in Paninya's voice.

"Want to get back to work? I want to finish that sheet before it grows cobwebs, and besides, who knows when those lovebirds will be back, right?"

They shuffle out of the kitchen then, and I slowly release my grip on Ed's arm. Paninya had never let me know that she was attracted to girls, but I don't want to jump to any conclusions. I guess I'll just have to wait and see, but–

"I ship it," I say quietly, almost reverently.

"What?" asks Ed.

"N-never mind." I don't want to keep our friends waiting, so I tack on, "Let's just get back upstairs."

"O-okay," he answers hesitantly, and this is what makes me finally turn to look at him. His golden gaze is unsure, of all things, and it's that that makes me want to just throw caution to the wind and plant a big fat kiss right on his lips.

But I don't. Because I can't.

"C'mon," is what I say instead.

We're passing that K-cup thingie when suddenly, my words come back to me.

I picture the data in my head, thinking quickly, and then–

"It's a carousel!"

Ed stares at me. "What?"

"The graph that Havoc gave us. It's showing a carousel's acceleration. You know, how during every rotation, they go over a slight bump? So there's a tiny window where it speeds up, and then slows down. That's gotta be the curve in the data!"

"How'd you come up with that?" he asks, sounding impressed.

"Thought outside the box," I answer, and I flick one of the coffee containers with my finger, all the while wishing that that strategy could help me untangle this whole relationship thing, too.


	13. Believer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just a believer  
> That things will get better  
> Some can take it or leave it  
> But I don’t wanna let it go
> 
> -American Authors, "Believer"

It starts out with a lie. Society values honesty, but, like with anything, terms and conditions apply. And the terms and conditions of our situation were such that, when it was all over, I felt immensely glad about all of it.

Because sometimes, lies are the only way to uncover the truth.

* * *

We planned to drop our shitty plan right in Roy's lap the moment we got back to school on Monday, but it takes almost a week to get an audience with the king of Resembool County High. All the while, I've chewed my fingernails down to stumps, because the disappearance of Miss Sult and Mr. Nevy strikes me with a heavy sense of foreboding. Ed and I filled Granny and Al in on what happened and what we were planning to do about it, and much to my surprise, Granny was all for it.

"Something needs to be done about that man," she remarked casually in her wrinkly voice as she unceremoniously dumped an entire box of spaghetti into a bubbling pot atop the stove. "Spoon, please."

Al silently withdrew a wooden mixing spoon from within the labyrinth of our cutlery drawer. Mom was the one who was best at cleaning up all of our messes, large and small, and ever since she and Dad died, the house never quite recovered.

"Thank you," Granny said in a singsong tone, wincing a little when a splash of boiling water doused her right thumb. "Now set the table."

"Which man are you talking about, anyway?" I asked her as I carefully folded four worn linen napkins. "Mr. Nevy?"

Granny shook her head at that, a sudden cloud of steam hiding her face from us.

"No, the Mustang boy. Watching him give up on life hasn't been a pretty sight. I'm sure that even you children have noticed it, no?"

Ed sighed loudly. "Yeah. He smells like a walking bottle of Jack, even at seven-thirty in the morning."

Granny suddenly whirled on him, tiny arms akimbo and round spectacles fogged over with water vapor. But she looked no less threatening as she angrily brandished her spoon in his face, nearly poking his eyeball out.

"And  _how_  do you know what whiskey smells like, young man?"

* * *

Mr. Havoc puts in a good word for me, and Ed and I (Al has basketball practice) finally get to see Roy on October twentieth, the day in which my fate will be decided forever. And I'm not just talking about my potential travel plans to Central to track down our teachers; my MIT interview over Skype is this evening.

But I have to put my latest college freak-out on hold, because when I enter the principal's office, I discover that Ed was entirely right – Roy smells like he's wearing Jack Daniels as cologne, and copious amounts of it at that.

"Sit down, kids, I don't have all day."

As we take our seats, the sour odor of whiskey rolls off of him in waves, and I shift away from his heavy oaken desk in what I hope is the most inconspicuous manner possible.

Ed has noticed the smell, too; I see his nose wrinkling before he begins to speak.

"Look, sir," he begins, drumming his newly rewired chrome-plated fingers against his knee. I smile to myself, admiring the bang-up job I'd done on them. Chrome and steel – an utterly unexpected yet strangely synergistic combination.

 _Just like Roy and Riza,_  I think with a jolt.  _The man who puts on a flashy show to hide his true feelings about the disappearance of his one true anchor, steadfast and unwavering–_

In that moment, it isn't at all in self-interest when I blurt out, "Principal Mustang, I think you need to go to Central City."

His eyes flash and refocus, but slow enough that I can begin to peer down into the overflowing well of fear, anger, and hurt below its liquid-dark surface.

"And why would I do that?" he asks in his typical gravelly manner, subconsciously stroking the faded red marks that stripe across the back of his right hand with the calloused pad of his left thumb. I remember Granny telling me that they're unfortunate souvenirs left over from the war that  _no one_ , especially its veterans, likes to talk about.

"Because if Miss Sult and Mr. Nevy are involved with this Homunculus Company thing, like you said before, and they're staying in Central for the month… Wouldn't it be, er, a good idea to check up on Ri – I mean, Ms. Hawkeye?"

I try to sound as concerned as possible, which really isn't that hard, because I've begun to realize that our plan may just have one little problem: it's taken on a reality of its own.

Roy just stares at me, and I gulp, loud and deep.

Ed surprises me by continuing on with, "We're actually really worried about you. Because you've, you know." He lightly blushes.

"All I'm saying is, you've been drinking a lot lately.  _A lot_. And you haven't been putting in that stupid hair gel, you don't look like your usual slick self."

I jump right on that bandwagon. "And Mr. Havoc says that you haven't visited your auntie since–"

I'm cut off in my tracks with a sudden, infuriated roar.

"I know, I know,  _I KNOW_!"

Roy sweeps the steadily growing mountain of unsigned paperwork clean off his desk surface; it silently flutters to the thick green piled carpet in a whirlwind of white.

"It's all Bradley,  _Bradley_ , that fucking  _murderer_! Taking away everyone I fucking care about, drowning the whole goddamn country in blood just so he can keep it trapped in his shitty hands!" The principal sits back down in his wing-backed chair with a dejected  _thunk_ , and I try my hardest not to stare. I don't want to believe the tears beginning to form in his baggy, bloodshot eyes.

"God, what I would  _give_  to see that bastard dragged away from office. To watch his wife cry over him because she'll never see him again, never get to kiss him or touch him or hear his voice for the rest of her whole fucking life...

"God. God fucking  _dammit_!"

 _He's talking about Riza,_  I realize. I chance a glance over at Ed, and he looks seriously frightened. This makes me all the more afraid, because from what I've observed throughout our decade and a half of friendship, not much seems to scare him.

Seeing as Roy has used practically every swear I know, and in front of his students, no less, I decide that the rules have officially gone out the window. I stand up, dust a stray sheet of paper off my right knee, and round his desk. I then proceed in my customary bumbling fashion to hesitantly place an arm around his shaking shoulders.

I've only ever seen a real, live adult cry once, and that was Granny at my parents' funeral. Now that I'm older, and I understand the true weight of what's going on, it's all the more shocking to me.

But I would never, ever pull away from the way that Roy holds onto my hand like a lifeline, the deep, dark wells of his eyes rapidly draining, because I realize that he's been holding back on this for weeks and weeks.

"I just need to see her again," he mumbles at one point, and I snap to attention. "Before…"

But he doesn't finish his sentence, and that serves to solidify the significance of the warning bells going off in my head – I can no longer ignore that whatever's happening, it's happening soon.

Ed has joined me now, and my silent stare serves as the perfect catalyst to get him to help me in my mission to calm down our heartbroken principal, one painfully awkward pat on the back at a time.

* * *

Later that night, a chorus of quiet knocks on my door interrupts my deep breathing exercise, which consists of me lying face down on my bed and trying to keep up a constant flow of oxygen whilst forcibly smothering myself with my pillow.

"Winry…?"

 _Whumph._  The pillow makes a dejected sigh as it falls to the floor.

"What?"

"Can we… come in?"

I nod vigorously, until I remember that they can't see me. "Yeah, sure–"

The door blasts wide open, admitting a whole slew of people. Paninya's the first to reach me, and when I give her a tentative smile, she falls all over me, wrapping me up in her arms and giving me at least five noogies.

"My baby's going to America! My baby's going to MIT! My baby's going to America–"

"Don't jinx it!" chides Sheska, but gently so. She then showers me with a huge grin.

"Congrats, Winry! They'd be  _crazy_  not to accept you!"

Granny sits down next to me, watching me fruitlessly attempt to wrestle out of Paninya's vice grip. "So… success?"

"Yeah. I think so. They complimented my English, and they seemed really interested in our neural wiring processes. I think I explained those pretty well, although I might have garbled some of the technical terms… Anyway. I even told them about constructing Ed's new arm… I think that impressed them!"

Granny takes my hand and strokes it soothingly, her beady eyes overflowing with pride, and I suddenly feel like I'm about to cry.

Happy tears, of course.

"What are you all doing here, anyway?" I ask, looking around the room for the face that I want to see most. Noting his absence, I tack on, "And where's Ed?"

"I loaned him my car to go grab some ice cream sundaes from Friendly's," Paninya answers.

"Extra hot fudge?" I ask.

She nods. "Extra hot fudge."

"This why we're best friends," I say, very seriously, and she laughs and plants a kiss on my forehead.

"C'mon, Sheska, let's go help Granny set the table!" She pulls Sheska none too gently out the door, and Granny chuckles, following them.

"Really, congratulations, Win," Al says, finally stepping forward and lightly giving me a fist bump.

"Oh, jeez, what was that?" I grab a fistful of his RCH Varsity Basketball t-shirt and wrap him in an octopus-style hug.

"See, big guy?  _Much_  better!"

He laughs and pats my head. "Okay, okay, you're right." He then pulls slightly away and grabs my shoulders, looking very earnest all of the sudden.

"Is it okay if I, er, well… invite May over for dinner and dessert?"

His flushing nose and ears make me giggle. "Oh, my gosh, of course! She can come over whenever she wants! Hell, she can move in–"

"Alrighty," Al cuts in hastily. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves." This reminds me of Paninya and Sheska's conversation in the kitchen last weekend about a certain golden-eyed someone, and when I hear the car door slam outside, my heartbeat suddenly speeds up.

"Oh! Ice cream!" Al perks up just like Den does in the presence of a tennis ball. This gives me an ample window to furiously fan my cheeks with my hands, desperately attempting to remain calm and collected. But Al never notices; he's out the door and down the stairs before I can say anything else.

I sigh, laughing to myself, and lean down to pick up my previously fallen pillow. I sit down on my bed and carefully adjust it, enjoying one last quiet moment–

"Hey," says a voice from the doorway, and I don't need to turn around to see whom it belongs to.

But I do so anyway. "Hi."

Before I can stop him, he crosses the room, lifts me off my feet, and twirls me in a circle, arms tightly secured around me all the while. I'm left breathless and dizzy, and not just by the spinning. His golden gaze looks so, so pleased.

"You never cease to amaze me," he whispers, and I nod uncertainly, a blush rapidly spreading across–

When he gently kisses me on the cheek, my brain promptly short-circuits.

* * *

As I slurp up the last bits of hot fudge puddle soaking through the bottom of my cardboard sundae cup, I can't do anything but smile like an idiot and think about the way he looked at me, the feeling of his arms around me... and the startlingly light press of his chapped lips to my face.

_Maybe..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that last bit from Ed is a total rip-off of that wonderfully cute moment between "The Legend of Korra" characters Mako and Korra in the second episode of the second book (season). If you haven't seen it yet, I command you to do so. Now.


	14. Timber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s going down, I’m yelling timber  
> You better move, you better dance  
> Let’s make a night, you won’t remember  
> I’ll be the one you won’t forget
> 
> -Pitbull, "Timber"

_“You think I’m gorgeous, you want to kiss me, you want to hug me…”_

_"Okay, you’ve had enough.” He plucks the Bud from my hand, avoiding my eyes as he does so._

_But if I’m anything, I’m stubbornly persistent, and I attempt to chase his arm, but wow, it’s so far away…_

_My aim is obviously a little off, because I end up grabbing the end of some girl’s short hair. She turns around and gives me a strange look._

_“Winry? How’d you get so… shitfaced?”_

_It’s Paninya, my best friend Paninya, my best friend, clutching a red Solo cup in one hand and a smiling Sheska in the other._

_“You guysssss,” I slur. “You guys…”_

_“…What?”_

_I don’t realize that my eyes have been tearing up until a big fat tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away, taking off about half of my mascara in the process; the black ink trails down the side of my hand like a scar._

_“You… You’re just so goddamn_ cute _!” I pronounce it like 'cahyoot'; Paninya looks at me in two parts horror and amusement._

_"The cute, cute girlfrandsssss!” I shout to the whole room, but no one’s listening._

_“The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” Pitbull advises me in response, his slightly accented voice puncturing the twangy sound of a techno-inspired harmonica._

* * *

“Lookin’ good, girl!” says Paninya happily, adding one last stroke of red face paint to her cheek. She pouts into the mirror, turning from side to side and admiring her hard work.

I pretend that she’s talking to me as I finish pulling Sheska’s hair back into a tight ponytail. “Aw, shucks!”

“Well, actually, that was aimed at Sheska,” Paninya counters, dropping the other girl a wink. She stutters out a bright-red ‘thank you,’ not even trying to hide her pleased smile.

“Oh, stop flirting,” I grumble, brushing out an errant tangle. We’re sitting in Paninya’s cavernous bathroom, filled to the brim with rows upon rows of make-up in all its confusing forms; pressed powder, concealer, blush, mascara, eyeliner… I don’t even have names for some of the pots and boxes and tubes that I see. Despite appearances, Paninya’s actually pretty girly, and Dominic spoils her rotten by showering her with anything she wants.

“Okay, I think you’re all set!”

Sheska does, in fact, look extremely good as Chihiro Ogino, the protagonist of the movie _Spirited Away_. I’d added a cheap set of extensions to her shaggy brown bob, and they are actually pretty well hidden, making me feel proud of my hairstyling skills. A baggy t-shirt and a pair of pink short shorts (she’d had to borrow those from me) complete the outfit, and I'm glad to see that she looks comfortable enough in it, despite the fact that it's much more exposing that her usual enormous sweaters.

We’d decided a few days ago that our costumes should all come from Ghibli films, and Paninya looks just as fierce as San from _Princess Mononoke_ , with perfect red stripes trailing down her face, a necklace with a crystal pendant, and a fake knife stashed against her hip.

I’d chosen to dress up as Sophie Hatter from _Howl’s Moving Castle_ , although my stark blond hair isn’t doing much for me. In the end, I defended my decision by deciding that my costume would be based off of book-Sophie instead, and I'd added a few red streaks of nonpermanent dye to my long braid to achieve her strawberry-blond look. A headband topped with three purple berry-like spheres smooths my long bangs away, and a green sundress paired with chocolate-brown combat boots completes the entire ensemble.

“Selfie attack!” Paninya shouts suddenly, and before I know what’s happening, her dark arm clenches around my neck, pulling me close. Sheska gets dragged into the camera’s sight just before the flash went off, and the end result is three faces smashed together, ridiculous smiles all around.

“That actually came out really well,” I comment, surprised.

“That’s going on Facebook,” she replies in agreement.

I rummage around the messy sink for my purse, wondering where I’ve put it. I can hear Paninya and Sheska talking together in soft voices behind me, and I suddenly feel a lot like a third wheel, although I know for sure that they don’t intend it to be that way.

“I’m glad you’re coming to the party, Win, before Mr. Principal can steal you away to Central!”

I turn to her and frown. “Wait. How do you know that?”

Sheska gives a tiny wave while Paninya places her hands on her hips, looking a little angry.

“Keeping secrets, huh?” she retorts.

Sheska sighs and pushes her to the side. “Sorry, Winry,” she says. “I see a lot of the school office’s paperwork, and I noticed that Mr. Mustang recently purchased train tickets for four to Central City.”

“How–”

“I sometimes help Ms. Catalina out after school,” she explains.

“You have _three_ jobs?” I exclaim. “That’s crazy! How do you even have time to breathe?”

She just shrugs, looking a little… sad. “Well…”

Paninya notices her forlorn expression and punches her lightly on the shoulder. “Let’s forget about that for now, Shesh.

“After all, it’s time to party!”

* * *

_"Seriously, how did she get this drunk?” Paninya asks the boy standing next to me, the one who took my precious Bud away. “Maybe you should take her back to my place, let her sleep it off? I can give you my keys!”_

_He shrugs, scratching his blonde head with a metal index finger. The sight of its shiny surface excites me into saying, “That arm! I_ made _that arm!”_

_“Yeah, I remember,” he responds, gingerly patting me on the head, but it feels like a ton of bricks. Suddenly, an unpleasant feeling rolls up through my throat–_

_“Gotta go! Nice to meet you!” I holler incoherently over my shoulder. I stumble slightly, and then I’ve found the door, thank God. I rip it open, its screen door protesting with a whine too high-pitched to be pleasant for my totaled ears, and then–_

_It all comes spewing out in a nasty brownish froth, over the porch railing and into an unsuspecting bush._

_“Sorry,” I say to it, feeling sort of weepy all of the sudden._

* * *

“We’re _hereeeee_ ,” Paninya sings loudly, recklessly swinging her clunky minivan, a hand-me-down from Dominic, into a spot on Russell Tringham’s vast lawn.

The Tringhams are the richest people in the entire county, and probably the entire country, come to think of it. Russell’s in my grade and a bit of a snob; his younger brother, Fletcher, is good friends with Alphonse. Their parents actually passed away about a year ago, but Russell was able to inherit their estate and the family fortune, as well as custody over Fletcher, upon his eighteenth birthday.

And although he comes off as a veritable killjoy most of the time, Russell Tringham throws the best parties.

Or, at least, so I’ve heard, because I’ve never been to a real-life house party before. And as I watch the silhouettes of my laughing classmates dart in and out of the artificial fog spreading across the grass and into the dark countryside forest beyond, I wonder if I really do belong here after all.

“Oh, look, there’s no moon!” shouts Paninya, bringing me back to the present with an audible crash. She’s right; the open sky on this unseasonably warm Halloween night is free of any light.

“Happy Halloween!” she hollers, grabbing Sheska’s hesitant hand and pulling her through the fog and towards the house, which is the size of the grand town library and lit-up like an enormous birthday cake.

I move to follow them, and then shrink back, hands fisted tightly into my dress. A chill breeze blows past, raising goosebumps on my exposed shoulders, and I’m seriously considering busting into Paninya’s van and holing up inside until the night is over, but then–

“Winry?”

I let out a shriek as a long white face with a hollow mouth and eyes looms out at me from the swirling fog.

“No, no, wait! It’s just me!” An arm covered entirely by a long black cape quickly removes what I now realize is just a plastic mask, revealing the face of Edward Elric.

“Not gonna lie, you scared the shit out of me,” I confess, rubbing my shaking hands over my upper arms in an entirely unsuccessful effort to warm up.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, eyes darting from mine to the ground and a slight flush spreading across his cheeks.

* * *

_“I never thought you'd be this much of a lightweight,” comes a dry voice next to me. I look over as another sour wave rises up into my mouth; it’s that guy from before, the guy who stole my metal arm._

_I grab onto it, steadying myself, and then look up into his golden eyes. They’re shocked wide-open, staring down at me._

_“You can keep it,” I tell him, giving the arm a gentle pat._

_“Okay…” His voice trails off to a whisper. His eyes haven’t moved an inch from mine._

_“You know, you’re really,_ really _hot,” I tell him, and those eyes blow up to the size of Granny’s dinner plates. “Like. Hot._ Hawt _!” I scrutinize him as best as I can with my bleary vision._

 _“Do you have a girlfriend or something? I would_ totally _be your girlfriend!”_

* * *

Suddenly, I’m thinking about that… _incident_ last week. The one where… you know.

My hand subconsciously flies up to touch my cheek, right towards the spot–

_Maybe…_

I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath. _Calm down already._

“Wanna go get a drink?” I ask him.

I’ve never drank before.

* * *

_"You would… what?”_

_I sigh heavily, scrubbing my cheek and effectively transplanting the accidental black streaks from its surface to the entire back of my hand._

_“Sorry, though,” I say apologetically, ignoring his stunned look. “I’m already in love with someone else. I guess I can’t be_ your _girlfriend. I want to be_ his _girlfriend, you know?”_

_All the blood drains from his face, contrasting starkly with his all-black ensemble._

_“Y-you’re… in l-love with someone?” he asks at a whisper._

* * *

“Did Russell invite you?” I ask, practically yelling to be heard over the music spewing from the mansion’s surround-sound system.

“No, I came here with Al and May!” he yells back. “I went to the bathroom, and when I came out, they weren’t where I’d left them. And then I saw you!”

“Oh,” I respond, only giving him half of my attention. The other half is focused on the blue cooler sitting squat in the corner of the poorly lit hallway (which looks to be twice as wide as my bedroom). Inside is a mountain of ice, packed around a dozen or so bottles of beer.

Well, there’s a first time for everything. I dart out and grab one, plus a napkin to twist the cap off, and before I can really think about it, I’m taking my first sip of alcohol.

“This tastes worse than I thought it would,” I mumble, eyeing the nearly opaque glass bottle with suspicion.

“It usually does,” he agrees. His roving eyes settle anywhere but on my face, and for some reason, this makes me take a huge gulp of the vile stuff.

I point towards the cooler. “You gonna have anything?”

“Nah, I’ve been hung over before, and I don’t feel like doing it again any time soon.” That’s when a girl dressed up in a house bunny costume saunters past, winking at him.

“Hi, honey, what’s your name?” she asks cheekily, giving him a coy smile.

“U-uh…”

Suddenly, I’m thinking, _Fuck it._

I pluck her shot right out of her hand and down it in half a second, almost enjoying the raw pain of the vodka shooting down my throat.

Both the girl and Ed stare at me with wide eyes, but I ignore them both and set off in search for Paninya and Sheska.

“Swing your partner round and round, end of the night, it’s going down, one more shot, another round…”

* * *

_“Ugh, I know, it’s horrible, isn’t it? Absolutely hahribbleeeee…”_

_There’s a long silence, so long that I begin to feel drowsy._ Very _drowsy. So drowsy, in fact, I fall straight into his surprised arms with a graceless_ whump _._

_“Oh,” is all he says._

_I don’t wait for an invitation to continue. “And he doesn’t even know!” I hiccup sadly._

_“I thought it was so ob-obvious… I mean, I can’t stop thinking about k-kissing him! Like, all the time.” I sniffle a little and twist around so that my face is buried into his shirt. After a heartbeat, his arms hesitantly wrap around my cold shoulders, and then tighten, his metal hand surprisingly warm on my back._

_“But I don’t think he’ll ever n-notice. I don’t think he’s really into all that lovey-dovey-lovey… stuff.”_

_He suddenly pulls away, and I let out a little sound of protest, but the way he’s staring me right in the face stops me short. His face is still very, very pale, and his eyes, the same color as the braid spilling out from beneath his black cloak, are very, very wide._

_“What if he_ does _notice, though? What would you… do?”_

_I shrug, yawning, too goddamn drunk to be suspicious of anything._

_“Probably… kiss ‘im. Like,_ all _the time. He’s really,_ really _…”_

_The boy looks frantic. “What? Really what?”_

_“Special,” I say like a sigh._

* * *

When I wake up in Paninya's bed on November first, swearing like a sailor at the fucking _torture_ going on in my poor, poor brain, I don't remember any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winry's little drunken speech was inspired by the romantic banter between Gracie and Eric at the end of "Miss Congeniality." I imagine the Tringham's house looking a lot like Jay Gatsby's from the recent film, and the house bunny girl is a reference to the Halloween scene in "Mean Girls," which I love.


	15. Sweet Disposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet disposition  
> Never too soon  
> Oh, reckless abandon  
> Like no one's watching you
> 
> -Temper Trap, "Sweet Disposition"

"What's your deal?" I ask him, almost accusingly, as the Friday afternoon speeds by our train cabin's window. "You haven't even touched your stew!"

"Too milky," is his grunted answer, chin level with the fold-down table and eyes focused on his fork, twirling it in circles against the artificial composite surface. The noise grates harshly against my ears, and I smack the fork away. It clatters to a stop in front of Alphonse, whose straight nose is buried in a brick-sized paperback.  _Cracking the ACT: Princeton Review_ , the cover blares in bold English.

"How's it going, Al?" I say, poking him on the shoulder. Ed harrumphs and falls back into the cabin's plush seat, closing his golden eyes as he does so.

"Not bad," he says absentmindedly, tugging his brother's abandoned stew towards him and, upon retrieving the fork, digging in with relish. "Some of the science concepts are a little unfamiliar. Central Academy might be the best school in the country, but we didn't cover all of this." He points to a cutaway of a prokaryote, and I wrinkle my nose in distaste at the memories it recalls.

"Ugh. AP Bio was the worst. There wasn't enough math; it was just memorization."

He shrugs. "I took the IB last year. It wasn't so bad."

"Maybe you could convince that lazy sack over there to start taking initiative on his own test scores," I say with a jerk of my head across the table, not bothering to hide the nastiness in my tone.

Because for some reason, Ed has been practically ignoring me, and I have no idea why. Ever since Halloween last week, he's become a moody, brooding loser determined to suffer in silence from God-knows-what. And the worst part of it all, it's largely directed at me. I've seen him carry on conversations with Al, Granny, and even Principal Mustang, but no, my Physics grade has to suffer because that idiot won't even look at me during lab period, let alone cooperate with me on experiments.

Seriously, why did I have to fall in love with that–

_Shut UP,_  I tell myself, with a mental punch thrown in for good measure.

"Oh, I don't need to do that," Al replies, almost cheerfully, around a big gulp of stew. "Brother scored perfectly on his SATs last month."

_Wait. What?_

"You… What. Why didn't you tell me?" I say, my voice escalating in pitch.

He cracks open one eye and regards me neutrally, and for some reason, this makes me blush. "I didn't think it was a big deal."

"Of course it is! You can do  _anything_  with that kind of score!" Suddenly, I'm very, very frustrated with my 2320, which had taken three tries and a lot of my precious time.

He just shrugs and closes his eyes once again, and in a very childish gesture, I give him a hard kick under the table–

–and his foot catches on mine.

And stays there.

_It's just a foot, it's just a foot, it's just an effing_ foot _,_  I tell myself repeatedly, willing my blush to disappear with all my might. But as minutes pass and it doesn't move, and a light pinkness begins to spread across Ed's cheeks, I realize that I just can't sit here.

"I–I'm gonna go check on Roy," I say hurriedly, and I scoot out of there as fast as I can. As I practically race up the aisle in a desperate attempt to keep my cool, I hear Al calling after me, "Do you want me to come with you?"

I ignore him. I seem to be getting better at ignoring people these days, especially if I'm blushing like a lunatic.

* * *

"Sorry, missy. No one under-aged allowed in this car," says the middle-aged doorman apologetically, raking a hand through his thinning hair.

Suddenly, a heavy arm is around my shoulders, and I gasp with shock, rapidly searching for its owner.

"It's okay, she's my daughter. Just coming to check on her old man," Roy Mustang says cheerfully, reaching out to pat my hair in an affectionate manner. I try not to grimace at the reek of alcohol–

But that's when I realize that the stench isn't coming off of the principal, who looks decidedly sober. The entire car, which is much fancier than our passenger cabin, is absolutely filled with it, that's all.

A small shiver caresses my spine, I eye the crowd suspiciously, but nothing seems out of the ordinary here. There's an American football game playing on a flat screen over the bartender's head, and the wide, square windows are cushioned by thick red velvet. It looks like any old bar, really (although don't take my word for it, because I haven't been in many).

Still, Roy looks ill at ease. With a nod towards the doorman, who still looks a little hesitant at letting me in (because honestly, with Roy's Xingese appearance and young face, there's no way he could be my father), he drags me down into a corner booth. He cradles an unopened beer in his steady hands, and I realize that this is all just keeping up appearances.

"What's going on–" I hiss.

"Where are the Elrics?" he asks quietly, cutting me off with a very serious face.

"Back in the passenger car. Why?"

"Good." Roy relaxes slightly, eyebrows withdrawing to their usual position, but he still looks defensive.

"Winry, have a look behind me and tell me what you see."

"Um–"

"Just do it," Roy says with a sigh.

"Okay… well, a guy just got up to go to the bathroom. And," I squint, "there's someone watching…  _My Little Pony_?"

"Is he wearing a fedora?"

"Affirmative, Principal, sir."

"Keep going."

"Someone's reading a newspaper. Oh, look, he finished his drink. He's going back to the bar…" My eyes suddenly widen.

"Oh, no…"

"I thought so," Roy says with grim satisfaction.

So  _that's_  why Mr. Edger didn't leave Resembool with the other… inhumans.

He's been waiting for us to make our move.

* * *

"You were gone for awhile," Ed remarks when I slip back into the compartment, reclaiming my former spot next to Al. His eyes look tight, although with annoyance or concern, I'll never know.

Just to spare my wishful heart, I'll assume it's the first one.

"Got a napkin?" I ask politely in response.

He looks confused, but he passes me Al's slightly used one anyway. Al looks up from his ACT book, curiosity beginning to spark in his amber eyes. I pluck a pen that he'd been using from his waiting hand and, feeling slightly foolish, quickly scrawl:

_Mr. Edger's here._

Ed immediately grabs the pen away from me and writes messily:

_Tailing us?_

I nod my affirmative. Al decides to add his input:

_Why are we writing?_

_Bugs._

_On a standard-issue train?_

_Roy said to take no risks._

The napkin, overloaded with black ink, tears at the corner, and it's just as well. I fold it up, failing miserably at avoiding Al's food stains, and quickly walk over to the bathroom.

With a mechanical  _whoosh_ , the soggy paper disappears into a germy disintegration.

* * *

Ed whistles his appreciation at the sight of the luxurious high-rise stretching up towards the night sky, devoid of any stars due to light pollution, before us. "Fancy digs."

"Only the best for my three star pupils," Roy counters. He's been tapping out a messy rhythm against his knee for the past half hour, and it's starting to drive me a little nuts.

Suddenly, he pauses, and his eyes are alight in the face of a sleek black car pulling into the circular driveway in front of us. He abandons his suitcase and immediately rushes to the driver's door–

Riza Hawkeye's blond head appears over the car's roof, and not a moment's lost as she and Roy collide into a perfect, perfect kiss.

_It looks like a scene from a movie,_  I muse, simultaneously promising to tell Paninya all about it as soon as we get back home. She's a sucker for romance, and Roy and Riza will certainly fit the bill.

"Oh, thank God," Roy is saying. "Thank God." He pulls her tight to his chest, his head resting on top of hers, and they just stay like that for a while. Suddenly, I feel like I'm intruding, and by the way Ed's eyes have stayed glued to the ground, I know I'm not the only one.

"C'mon, we can check ourselves in," I say gently, pulling on his arm. His eyes dart to my face and then towards my hand, staring at it with a sort of wild uncertainty.

I quickly drop him. "Or not."

Al's rolling his eyes as he punches his brother on the shoulder. "Let's move it already. I'm freezing."

A suited bellhop helps us to load our suitcases as well as Roy's onto a trolley, but I can't help turning around for one last look at the embracing couple. Roy's pulled away slightly, and his liquid-dark eyes are full of laughter; Riza smiles at him one last time before burying her head into his shirt.

I can tell that they don't intend to let go of each other ever again.

* * *

"Some display," Ed grouses as he punches the up button. The elevator bank is situated in the corner of the lobby, which is the fanciest place I've ever set foot in, including the Tringham mansion. Every surface is burnished with golden light, including the fleur-de-lis stamped into the rich green of the real fabric wallpaper. I trail my hand over it, marveling at its individual threads, and only stop when I get an evil look from the elevator operator, who's also eyeing Ed's metal arm with a sort of distaste.

I want to stick my tongue out at him, but the enormous chandelier overhead, dripping with what  _must_  be diamonds, catches my attention. I stare up at it, chuckling at the sight of one hundred tiny Winrys caught in their glassy surfaces.

"Got a problem with a little kissing?" Al teases.

"Oh, c'mon, like you're some kissing expert–" Ed retorts, but I've torn my eyes away from the chandelier in order to zero in on Al's enormous blush.

"Al…" I begin, and he must've noticed my knowing look, because he hastily throws up his hands like a shield.

But I plow on anyway. "Have you been kissing a certain someone–"

The elevator suddenly pings, opening wide to admit us and our trolley, and the operator looks happy to see us go.

* * *

"What the hell's going on here?" I practically shout, holding my suitcase tight to my chest.

"Scared you'll get cooties, Win?" Al jokes, but there's steel underneath his tone, and I know he doesn't want me guessing any further about his relationship with May.

I eye the enormous king bed with extreme dislike. It's the only sleeping surface in the entire room, and I absolutely,  _positutely_  don't plan on sharing a bed with either of them... especially Ed.

_Oh, who am I kidding._

"Relax, young'uns," a deep voice says from behind us, and I nearly jump out of my skin. "That door goes through to another room, there're double beds in there." He points out the passage that I thought led to a closet, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

"Here's my number," he says, quickly scratching out a barely legible series of digits on the complimentary notepad sitting on the nightstand. "And Riza's. Call us right away if you need anything, no matter the time of night."

We nod in tandem, and then–

"You aren't staying with us?" Ed asks.

Roy smirks. "I trust you guys'll leave Miss Rockbell alone." I wrinkle my nose at that, because I'm too confused to be truly angry.

Riza appears in the doorway then. "Good night, kids. Sleep well. We'll come get you in the morning, got it?"

They're just about to leave when I blurt out, "Wait. How long are we going to be here?"

"I'm the principal of one of the most prestigious schools in the country, Winry. We'll get you three back to Resembool just in time for Monday classes."

"But if we already know that Riza's safe–"

Roy eyes me suspiciously. "Do you  _really_  think I didn't see through all that, Winry?"

"What…"

"C'mon, give me a little more credit. It's practically my job to catch kids in the act."

"And to be a professional school administrator," Riza mutters, and Roy drops her a roguish wink. I can't believe it; his drunken sadness had seemed so real, and the way he'd kissed her as soon as she had gotten out of the car...

_Are all guys this good at deception?_

"Don't worry, we'll be putting you three to good use." He eyes Ed, who's just returned from depositing his and Al's suitcases in the other room.

"And besides, I think there's someone Elric wants to see."

Ed's golden eyes blow up wide, filled with anger… and hurt.

A painful feeling suddenly takes root in my heart, and I'm about to ask him what Roy means, but he stalks into the bathroom and slams the door shut. The water turns on then, which makes Roy sigh.

"Keep the door locked, okay?" Al nods solemnly, looking a bit upset at his brother's sudden disappearance.

Riza smiles at me in particular, and it feels like a blessing. "Nice to see you again, Winry."

* * *

By the time Ed finishes with his shower, I've already fallen asleep, and my dreams are filled with a strange memory of a metal hand quickly but gently passing a hand over my face, pushing an errant strand of hair behind my exposed ear.


End file.
